Grape Soda
by magik-blood
Summary: Harleen has a lot to balance; school, working nights at a strip club, and an internship at Arkham Asylum. Add the attention of a certain psychopath, his vengeful psychiatrist, and Gotham's biggest mob kings, it's enough to drive her... crazy. HarleyxJoker. DaddyKink. Edgy!Joker.
1. seven up

_i ; seven up_

Look at that stupid little pretty blonde. Playing dress up as a Doctor. Dreaming of breaking into the iron hold of a psychopath's mind. What is it now? A book deal? A TV movie? Fame that lasts a moment in the ever fastidious eye of Gotham.

"Tell me, why did you do it?"

Really? Was that the best you had? Utterly pathetic. Trite. Ordinary.

"You killed a lot of people… You killed _him_ …"

It brought a smile. The memory. Puddin was so proud…

"Does it make you happy?"

Happy? Only one thing brought happiness. And that was love. Realizing all your miserable flaws while someone accepted you for them. Good love was empowering. The wrong love was demeaning. And their love, well, it was mad.

"Harleen Quinzel," came the Doctor's voice.

Harley looked to him with wild eyes. Her arms twitched beneath a straitjacket.

"Why don't you tell me why you killed Robin?"

Harley felt the heat rise in her chest. Because puddin wanted it. Because it made puddin happy. Because puddin killed her best friend. Because puddin pulled the moon from the sky and set it ablaze just for her.

The Arkham shrink was displeased and Harley could tell.

"You know it doesn't work that way," she blurted out. "Winning the trust of your patient is always first. And I don't trust nobody these days. How can a girl?"

The psychiatrist jotted down some notes. Harley smirked.

But then… it reminded of her of someone. A pretty little girl playing as a Doctor. Hands sweating. Knees weak. And a man with bleached skin and lime green hair whispering in her ear.

 _Harleen Quinzel_ , a voice echoed in her ear, _I'm so pleased to finally meet you, Mister Joker…_

"Is there something the matter, Harleen?" questioned the man.

"Oh, you know. Just the voices," she tittered as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"You were a psychiatrist. A promising student," he said changing the subject. "You had a life. Family. Friends. A paying internship here. What happened? Please. I'm only curious."

Harley smiled, "curiosity killed the cat, Doc."

"It doesn't need to leave this room."

Harley paused for a moment. Even the quiet seemed to scream since he turned her life upside down. But she was once different, somehow. It seemed like remembering a memory from a past life. Yet it was still clear, only foreign and alienating.

It made a glimmer of sense to her why he could never pin down one narrative for his past. She found the edges blurred as well.

Maybe, she thought, she ought to tell someone before the memories were gone for good.

"Do you pinky promise?" she asked childishly.

"Yes" he said with baited breath sitting up in his seat.

"Well then," she said in a sing-songy manner, "once upon a time…"


	2. espresso

A/N: Thank you all for the favs and follows! Holy crap that is overwhelming. Hopefully this story can live up to your expectations. Anyways, this is going to be as close to Suicide Squad/BvS canon as possible. Since we don't know that much about Jared Leto's Joker or Harley's past I'll be taking some creative liberty with that. Anyways, here we go~

* * *

 _ii ; espresso  
_

 **1 year previous**

Espresso was not something to be taken lightly. The smell. The essential quirky mug. How it warmed the hands. Or, the unexplainable ability it had to ease pain. Especially after a long night of finishing off a box of wine… single handily. Harleen Quinzel could appreciate the simple pleasures in life. Complicated ones were usually too hard to come by.

And expensive. She was, after all, a budding college student. Studying day and night… professor after professor… angry wife after angry wife.

She sipped the hot drink, wincing at the sharp pain in her head as the steam fogged her glasses.

It wasn't like she was lazy, or something. She hardly had time to write essays, study for tests, or spend hours in the library looking up dusty books by "Doctors" who always seemed to blame the mother. With a studio apartment to pay for, and the occasional spending spree, Harleen found herself working a less than blue-collar job. Though it usually landed her in trouble, the abundant tips were well worth the occasional brush with danger.

She wasn't some lofty city girl, after all. She was from a rough borough. A little scrap of apartments and 7-Elevens that looked over the water. Yet, those streets were a dream compared to the slums of Gotham. At least they taught her how to carry a switchblade and watch her back.

Besides the threat of thieves and gangsters at her front door, she often faced an unnerving trouble; the opposite gender. Somehow, the stress of her latest fling had landed a box of Franzia White Zinfandel on her doorstep.

 _Boys were lower than flees,_ she recalled her favorite musical stating. _Frenchie was a smart girl. The only guy a girl can trust is her daddy, and ain't that the truth…_

A hurried slew of knocks on her door disrupted her cherished hung-over morning routine and threw her thoughts from her mind.

"Harleen!" the voice called as she knocked, rattling her various chains and locks, "I know you're home!"

Harleen groaned at the voice. She knew exactly who it was.

"Not now, Chic. I gotta get ready for class."

"Class my fuckin ass, bitch," the voice retorted, "listen, we need to talk."

Harleen unlocked her padlocks and opened the door to reveal a woman who looked as if she had stepped out of a 90's music video. Brown lipstick, hoop earrings, and bright pink fuzzy slippers included. She also appeared a bit less than pleased.

"You alone?" she asked raising a thin, well-drawn brow.

"Chic," Harleen muttered, "I'm not exactly in the mood for some tough mama love, right now, kay?"

"Well that's too bad, girl. 'Cause you know I ain't here for this shit."

She said raising her phone to her message app. Harleen made a pained expression.

"Oh fuck me…" she moaned.

"Yeah, I'm surprised you didn't try that on one me," said the woman making her way into the apartment. "You be texting my ass like I'm your one true love or some shit."

"I'm sorry, I was… uh… super intoxicated."

"Oh, I know. That's why I'm here," she said making herself comfortable on a kitchen stool.

Harleen put a hand on her hip looking to her friend. They met at the club they work at. Chic is the best dancer the strip joint fronts. And, she has an ass that would make a Kardashian sweat, Harleen frequently mused. Of course, Harleen habitually clarified she herself was no stripper. She was a well-paid waitress. Very well paid.

"It was Mark… Brad… and Anthony… again," Harleen said raising fingers to keep count.

"Damn, Cleopatra. That better be a guy's first, middle, and last name."

Harleen smiled, "Nope. All different. All over the age of fifty-five, and all married."

Chic shook her head disapprovingly, "Shit, if I knew I coulda got A's in school by fuckin, my ass would be a gotdamn brain surgeon."

"It's not so easy, believe me. Men are simple but you gotta scope out the right idiot. Too smart and you're expelled, too dumb and they say no."

"Listen, girl. You're too good for them, and too smart for your own good."

"Awe, you're just saying that shit," said Harleen taking a class from her cupboard to fill with orange juice for Chic.

"No," she said as if the notion was absurd, "you know I wouldn't compliment a bitch if she was my damn twin."

Harleen giggled before rolling her eyes, "Sure."

"I'm saying that shit because it's true. Believe me, it's why Tia hates my guts. Because I talk so many good girls out of dancing at The Gin. But only when I see something in them."

"You'd never talk me outta 5k a month."

"Well you ain't doing 5 dollar hummers under the table, neither."

"True."

"And you don't dance full time. If ya did, well, it would be different situation completely. Us shore born girls look out for each other, right?"

Chic took a sip of the juice, her lipstick leaving a mark on the edge.

Harleen leaned over the table, examining her sharp French tip manicure.

"Shore born, tattered and torn, meaner than a Texas longhorn" she sang to herself.

"I know you ain't happy like this. And that's not happening while I'm sitting in your kitchen calling you my friend," Chic pointed out.

"You're being dramatic, I was drunk. You can't take that stuff seriously."

"Is that why you told me you'd kill yourself if you didn't become famous?"

Harleen looked away, quickly deciding to play off the idea, "I was just joking around! Jeez!"

"Yeah, and I'm going back to Puerto Rico with my new sugar daddy, Harvey Dent."

"You take me too seriously."

"And then you went on for an hour comparing the hypothetical dick sizes of Superman and Batman."

"Well you're welcome for those visuals."

Chic looked to her friend questioning if she were serious.

"I'm telling you, Batman's chode ain't got nothing on whatever that Superman's got stuffed in that suit. Could you imagine?"

"Well shit, thanks to you I don't," said Chic eyeing her friend. "Did you ever realize if you studied instead this crap you wouldn't have to screw to get by?"

"I could get by without screwin'. I just need to be the best. That way, I'll get offered a big case sociopath… who knows what notoriety that would bring. Maybe a book deal!"

"Valedictorian and stripper all in one, only in motherfuckin Gotham."

"Not a stripper, a dancer. Besides, I could do it."

"In your wildest dreams," she laughed.

Harleen frowned as her friend laughed to herself, "Clean up your act. Get a real job. Forget about The Gin and Bare It. Forget about old white dick."

"Hey, it may not be conventional, but I'm sure as hell getting exactly what I want."

"Oh really? Tell my phone bill that."

Chic got up taking the glass of juice with her.

"Headed to work?" asked Harleen watching her leave.

"Not tonight, got my mom's stupid surprise party."

"You're telling her you're quitting dancing then?" asked Harleen with a smirk.

Chic laughed dryly, "Bout the only damn thing that would surprise that crazy bitch."

She reached for the rusted doorknob when she remembered something.

"Hey, I printed this out for you. Just some interesting job opportunities."

Chic handed her a folded paper to from her pocket. Harleen looked back to her, annoyed by her pushiness.

" _Chic."_

"Hear me out, Harleen. Ain't no Bruce Waynes ever came out of the club scene. You'll never make a difference shaking it for the ogling creeps there," she said opening the door, "There's an internship on there that sounds right up your alley."

"Oh yeah? What's that?" she asked looking over the paper before her eyes fell on something that made her heart skip a beat.

Chic smiled, "It's at Arkham Asylum. You'd be rubbin elbows with the best this city has to offer."

Harleen looked back to her friend's knowing smile.

"Sounds like it would make a damn good read to me," she said before shutting the door behind her.


	3. seltzer

A/N: Thank you for the inspiring reviews! As for the rest of you, please don't hesitate to drop me a review ;)

* * *

 _iii ; seltzer_

"I know you don't have availability on the weekdays, but we need you tonight, babe. Can I count on you?"

Harleen figured Chic's party obligation must have been divine intervention. About an hour after her little visit, the owner of the club called her with an urgent plea. Chic would have kicked her ass if she saw her dancing on a school night, let alone stepping foot in the seedy east side area.

But, she knew the coast was clear. And after The Gin's owner promised a big payday, she could hardly refuse.

"Of course, Mister Chang, you can count on me!"

"Thanks, sweets. You wouldn't believe it. Some big spender bought us out for a private party, on a Wednesday of all nights…"

"Private party?"

"Yeah, just one Joe White and a hundred of his closest friends."

"Huh, Joe White."

"Yeah, well anyways, see you tonight. Look your worst."

"You know I always do, Mister C."

She hung up and smiled wickedly to her phone. Though, she wondered who would willingly buy out a place like The Gin and Bare It. However, her excitement over powered any questions she had. She'd never served at a private party before.

She glanced back to the paper her friend had left for her. It laid folded on her kitchen counter.

 _The internship_ , it sounded too good to be true.

Applicants needed to submit an essay on how they could change Arkham. How they would approach the most disturbing of inmates. And what helping those individuals meant to them.

There was no getting around the submission. No offering it a quickie in the closet, no wondering if it was in a happy marriage. She had to do it, and do it right. And, looking at the submission date, it had to be done rather soon.

So what was another night? Besides, if she was going to be working on the Arkham staff, she would need to buy some proper business clothes. Tonight was an investment. She promised herself she would save every last dime, too.

She dashed off to stuff her cheetah duffle bag with her makeup and costume.

* * *

The MC laughed, covering the microphone with his hand, "Harley Quin? Like Harlequin?"

"I said Har _leen_ Quin _zel_ ," repeated the owner, Mr. Chang, loudly over the music of the club.

The announcer raised a brow before looking back to address the buzzing crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it's time, get ready to rev up your Harley!" Mr. Chang elbowed the man.

"That's her _real_ name, shithead."

"I thought it had a ring to it!" said the MC before taking the to the mic again. "The Harlequin of the dance floor, the one, the only, Harley Quin!"

Harleen stood frozen just off stage, practically shaking in her 5 inch heels.

How did she get roped into dancing on stage for the first time in her life? Well, it turns out mobsters and gangbangers had a certain type. And, she was currently the only bleached blonde cheerleader kind at The Gin. Mr. Chang swore the crowd would be throwing hundreds at her. All though, he regretted to inform her that there wouldn't be a pair of clean hands in the room. She wondered if it was 'horrifying criminals' drink for free night. The men in the room were sharply dressed, coolly lounging with their handguns sticking from their belts. Each with a look of intimidation permanently plastered to their facades.

" _GO!"_ yelled Mister Chang to Harleen as she was brought back to the present situation. She took a breath before slowly stepping out from behind the curtain.

She looked out to the see of suits and mad men.

Most of them glanced to her indifferently before continuing with their business.

She looked back nervously to Mr. Change who signaled to the pole.

"Drop it!" he mouthed to her, "LOW!"

She sauntered toward the pole and began to walk around it. Suddenly, it was as if she had two left feet. Sex appeal usually came to her without a second thought. Something that was hardwired into her DNA. Yet, there under the spotlight, it was as if she had spent her years of experimenting and seducing in college on an Amish farm, instead.

Though she didn't feel it, she certainly looked the part of a seedy stripper. With her pink bra top, black leather hot shorts, and strappy black heals.

She dropped slowly along the pole before sticking out her rear end, and pulling herself back up.

Glancing inconspicuously over the crowd again, she saw a glimpse of an odd face. Just behind the curtains of a VIP lounge. The lights danced around her with the bright spotlight making it difficult to see clearly. Yet, she swore, she'd seen that face before.

"So where is this Joe White?" asked the MC to Mr. Chang.

The man squinted to the VIP room. He struggled to see the figure watching on from behind the transparent curtains.

"I think he's in there, he must have come in through the back."

The MC looked to him oddly, "Not the social type, is he?"

Harleen blinked seeing stars, she closed her eyes and leapt onto the pole. A man hooted as she twirled around. Then, she effortlessly fell back, her legs twisted around the metal as she gracefully hung upside down. Bills rained around her.

" _What!_ Did you know she could do that?" yelled Mister Chang.

"Did _she_ know she could do that?" asked the MC.

Harleen opened her eyes to see the man emerging from the lounge. He was followed by a troupe of men, walking through the crowd like they owned the place. But even stranger, his hair… and that face...

To the amazement of the onlookers, she reached her hands to the ground preforming a back hand spring off the pole.

She spun with feline grace in her heals and landed just at the end of the stage.

"Holy shit, what is this?" laughed the MC. "The hooker Olympics?"

She smiled out to the crowd before the lights stopped their dizzying dance. Then, her grin slowly turned to a look of horror. Standing there, looking over the crowd, as almost every eye had been on her, stood a man in a silver suit with shocking green hair.

"My god…" she gasped to herself as the man raised a gun to the ceiling.


	4. champain

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews! I usually acknowledge ya'll here instead of replying separately. Anyways, I've loved this ship for _ages_. But somehow this movie has all new head-canons for J/H skipping through my mind. I'm trying to tie in bits of Mad Love along w the newer SS stuff but we'll see where this journey takes us. Probably somewhere weird. Oh well. Onward~

* * *

 _iv ; champain_

A peel of loud bangs echoed through the club. Harleen hit the floor as chaos erupted around her. Men drew their weapons as if they had been anticipating it all night. And then, in the center of the mayhem, a man cackled with slow, maniacal, laughter.

"Oh shit," muttered Mr. Change as he ducked behind the MC's stand, "It's Joe White…"

"The Joker?" cried the announcer dropping to the floor with Chang, "Wait til I tell my wife!"

Harleen slowly dared to glance up from the stage. She could hardly believe her eyes at the sight. It was a breaking headline on the news. A whisper one the street from a cokehead. A man with white skin and bright red smile, and a laugh that would send a shiver down the Devil's spine.

She watched as he looked over the room with a broad smile.

"Sorry gentlemen, just a little bang and champagne to get the party started," he said taking a bottle off a table and throwing it behind him.

"I've had it with this clown," she heard a man mumble from her left.

"Can't he just walk into a room like a normal person?" she heard another man question.

Then, something happened she could hardly believe. The man… _the Joker_ … glanced to her. And, without giving her a moment to react, he dropped her a slow, intentional, wink.

In the next moment, he was looking back to the annoyed mobsters.

"Forgive the pomp and circumstance, men. Please, carry on with your business..."

He waved his hands to the crowd, welcoming them as if he was about to put on a concert. She was amazed. He was alluring, repulsing, enigmatic, direct…

And had he really _winked_ at her?

She noticed as one of the Joker's henchmen took over the MC's mike and quickly changed the music. Suddenly, to her confusion, house music became some sort of 40's big band swing.

"And please," said the Joker raising his gun to a horrified bartender, "enjoy one on me tonight, boys."

Harleen buried her face in her arms as a shot rang out.

 _Tony… he had a wife… maybe… he was always going on about some stubborn woman in his life. They were kinda friends. Gave her a used microwave for her apartment…_

"Swing, swing, swing," chided the Joker to his gasping victim as the song of the same name began to bump through the speakers.

Men slowly put their weapons away, eyeing the Joker uncertainly as he strolled through the club eyeing them straight back. He wanted to be sure everyone was aware of his presence, in case they had somehow missed his entrance. Harleen herself was stunned by the sudden electricity in the air. Just the sight of him was enough to catch the eye. With his sharp clothes, shimmering chains, and golden cane, there was no ignoring his manifestation. But, there something about him… something more than his physical being. Almost like a shift in the air. If the Joker was in the room, everything centered around him. Like the Sun in the center of the universe, like Ziggy Stardust in 1972, like Bugs Bunny on a Saturday morning…

And, just like that, he left the crowd to their conversation and retreated back to the lounge.

" _Harleen!"_ spat Mr. Chang.

She glanced behind, still sprawled on the floor.

"Get up! Keep dancing!"

"Are you nuts?!" she cried in a whisper.

"Get up!" he repeated, miming with his hands, "Dance! Distract them!"

Mr. Change pushed by the newly appointed MC and turned up the old fashioned music to drown out any suspicious whispers.

She watched wide eyed as the crazed henchman stuck a gun under her boss's chin.

"Hey man, I don't mean any disrespect…" he pleaded.

"Good. You or any of your girls call the cops, heads will roll."

Mister Chang nodded looking to Harleen.

"You got it, boss," he eagerly complied.

Harleen gathered the bravery to pull herself to her feet.

Mr. Chang staggered away from the henchman. _"DANCE!"_ he shouted to her before dipping back stage.

She mindlessly turned to twirl around the pole, again. Her sweaty, shaking, hands practically slipped off the metal. She couldn't quite get into the rhythm of the jolty music.

 _The Joker_ … the name echoed in her mind. It might as well had been Santa Clause.

The next five minutes went on agonizingly slow. At long last, it time for the next dancer to come out. A bare chested girl entered as Harleen quickly grabbed the bills off the stage. She didn't know the vivacious woman but couldn't help side-eyeing her perfectly round breasts. She figured they were worth as much as her college tuition.

Some of the men hooted at her entrance, which was music to Harleen's ears. The attention was finally off of herself.

She hurried backstage and tore the stilettos off her feet, shoving them in her duffle bag along with the money.

"Did you see him?!"

"What did he look like?!"

"Is his skin really white?"

Harleen looked to the three other strippers who had bombarded her with questions.

"He's a monster," she said matter-of-factly. "He killed Tony. I'd get out of here if I were you girls," she said, tugging on a pair of sneakers.

The women watched in confusion as she pulled on a long black jacket and walked toward the door back to the club.

"You're leaving?" questioned one.

"Yes?" said Harleen, as if it were obvious.

" _Pinche idiota,"_ spat another, "those men could give you more money than you've ever seen!"

"Have at in then, Diamond. And get your head blown off while you're at it," she said spitefully.

"Well, she's gonna blow someone's head…" laughed another as Harleen rolled her eyes and found her way back into the sea of gangsters.

Once she had the exit sign in sight, she lowered her head and darted through the crowd, until-

"Where you off to in such a hurry, blondie?" a large man said with a sudden, firm grip on her hand.

She froze at the sight of him. He was older with greased back hair and suit worth more than that last stripper's tits.

She glanced to the men seated around him smoking cigars. They looked important, familiar even. But then again, every man in the club did.

"Come and take a load off," he said collapsing into a chair and pulling her into his lap.

She forced a smile, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. He looked to her oddly.

"Something the matter…? You weren't leavin, were ya?"

 _No, I always circle the club in my coat and sneakers,_ she inwardly mused.

"No, sir."

"Good," he said looking her over as she sat perched on his lap. "Whatever that goon is paying you, I'd triple it for one night…"

She squirmed uncomfortably.

"I'm not that kinda girl, sir…"

He laughed, "Not that kinda girl… that's cute. She's real cute, isn't she fellas?"

Harleen looked away as his fat fingers caressed her cheek.

"I've never seen a girl dance like that before..."

She smiled but looked to ground, inwardly anticipating another round of gunfire to go off at any moment.

"What did he say your name was? Harley? Huh, I bet you purr like one too… as soon as someone lights the ignition," he chuckled and she could smell the whiskey on his lips.

"Johnny," he commanded snapping his fingers as a younger man rose to his feet. "Get the lady a drink, can't you see she's parched?"

"You got it, boss."

"And Johnny, take her jacket off for her, will ya?"

She was about to politely refuse when the large man continued, "Don't worry, I'm all the warmth you need, sweetheart."

Her heart raced, her palms felt moist, her head became light.

Johnny pulled her coat from her and threw it to the coach. And, in the next moment, there was a tall, thin glass held before her face.

She smiled and took it, yet hesitated to drink it.

"Aren't you thirsty?" asked the man.

"I don't take drinks from strange men," she said with a nervous giggle before taking a sip, trying to keep the mood light.

"Sal Maroni," he said, introducing himself with a pompous grin. She immediately chocked on the alcohol.

"Oh," she said trying to play it off coolly, "Well, nice to meet you, Mister Maroni."

She sipped the drink and he watched her with a pleased grin.

He leaned over to the man next to him and whispered something.

Harleen felt her heart pound. She was eager to empty the tiny glass… and then…

 _Oh, fuck._

She pulled the glass from her lips horrified. That taste. It wasn't the usual burn of a frisky champagne.

The men looked back to Harleen as she feigned laughter. They humored her and laughed along, but she soon noticed, they weren't laughing _with_ her.

 _Welp, I'm fucked._

The effect took ahold of her quick as lightning. The room became hazy, slowed down, and sped up, all at once.

Her eyes were glued on the floor again as the mobster's hands wandered down her back.

All the while, swing music poured out from the speakers like some vintage, hidden, club during the prohibition era.

 _Chic would certainly not be happy with this little stunt_ , she admitted examining the pattern of the carpet.

"I think I can feel this Harley purr now, boys," laughed Maroni as his men boisterously joined in.

That was when a man stepped in front of them.

Harleen's eyes fixated on his black and white pointy shoes. She narrowed her brow at the sight of them. They looked like they belonged to some Fred Astir, someone who had stepped out from a MGM picture, someone from a bygone time...

"Our deal, Maroni," came his distinctly raspy tone.

Harleen's eyes slowly panned up the figure in realization.

That voice. The one that had filled the airwaves so often. That had struck fear into the fearless and taunted the untouchable…

Maroni let out an aggravated groan at the sight of the Joker.

"Interrupt a man with business during pleasure?" he questioned, obviously perturbed.

"Pleasurrre is my business," said the Joker, savoring the words with a dazzling smile.

Harleen's mouth fell upon as their eyes met once again. It sent a shockwave through her core. Even her drugged liquor couldn't numb his presence.

She quickly looked away.

 _His skin,_ she thought in horror, _he was pale as a ghost._

"Aren't you supposed to be in Arkham, anyway?" asked the bold man. "Locked away with some Doc jabbing needles in your ass cheek?"

The Joker grinned painfully large.

"Ha… ha… ha…" he raised a tattooed hand over his red lips. Maroni scoffed at the cartoonish mouth on his hand.

Then, in a blink, the Joker's mood switched. He sneered and lurched forward, grabbing the man roughly by his collar. Harleen was pushed to the floor in the sudden altercation.

"You bastard!" Maroni cried as his men raised their guns at the Joker. The Joker's henchmen quickly did the same to them.

"Be cool," spat one of the Joker's men, a bearded man who looked to be on the wiser side of 30.

Meanwhile, the Joker's breath hit Maroni's lips, "Oh, I'm the bastard, am I? You owe me, Jack. Big time."

"I don't owe you _shit!_ "

"Uh, uh, uh," he said unapprovingly, "watch your language. We are around the weak hearts of _women_ …" he growled the word, rolling his head to the side to look at Harleen.

She gasped and squirmed back against a table.

"No one extorts me, you son of bitch!"

"You stuck your nose where it doesn't belong, Bob." He cocked his head, his eyes glancing to his lips for a tantalizing moment. He made a breathy chuckle. "What was it you always told me? If money is power, than I'm Jesus Christ himself…"

Maroni scowled to him, "You're crazy! No sane man woulda invested with a bat like you!"

" _Baaat_ …" the Joker laughed the word. "Now, now. No bringing up past heartaches tonight."

"Yeah, wait until he catches your ass again. He'll send you back with all the other nut jobs, right where you belong."

"He might. But not before I get my money," the Joker sniggered, changing the subject, "You shoulda seen the things I did to those guards. Ever see a man laugh with sorrow? Smile in the welcoming embrace of death? I can make you _yeeearn_ for it… dream of it… and take it all away."

Harleen was frozen on the floor, afraid if she moved she would acquire another icy glance from that… _man_. She wondered if he even was a man. The way he spoke, moved, and just _was_ , nothing seemed too human about it.

"I see you have her warmed up for me," said the Joker mockingly.

Harleen narrowed her brow to him and Maroni sighed exasperated.

"Will it get you off my case?"

"Ah, only for the night," he warned sinisterly.

And then, the Joker extended a hand to Harleen without breaking eye contact with Maroni. She looked to it perplexed, a purple glove open and waiting for her.

 _Why?_

She blinked wondering if it were a trick of the drugs cooking in her system.

Then, she saw her own hand reaching for his before realizing she had even moved an inch.

With her hand clasped in his, he effortlessly pulled her to her feet.

She woozily found her footing.

"Oh, woah there," he whispered to her, smiling showily to Maroni, making his blood boil. "Don't worry, my dear, you're now in the custody of a true… _gentleman_."

Harleen looked to him wide-eyed as another man took her by the wrist, escorting her away. Her eyes stayed fixated on the Joker as he leered back to Maroni.

"Get outta my sight," spat the mobster, getting one final rouse from the Joker.

"You know, Bill. A smart man, I find, mixes business with pleasure. And pleasure with just about everything else. Until you find, even pain can be as beautiful as some pitiless _trick_."

The Joker smirked before backing away from the furious man.

"900k," sang the Joker, "I'm missing it, friend-o, and I'm missing it _bad_."

"Chump change," Maroni muttered in slight defeat to the Joker's liking.

"Huh, a smart man, after all," the Joker feigned a gasp before turning up his collar and leading Harleen and his men back to the lounge.

"Follow him," commanded a voice in Harleen's ear. It was the same bearded henchman.

"What?" she asked before she was pushed along with the others.

They traveled across the room. She watched in awe as men turned away from them fear. Gangbangers, mobsters, and business men. All so eager to stare, and so quick to turn away. She looked to the back of his lime colored head in awe.

The VIP room had girls lounging around like they were nothing more than ornaments.

The Joker collapsed into a sleek black couch before a crystal table. A man seemed to be waiting for him, seated across from him.

"What is this?" she asked breathlessly, reaching for her forehead as the mysterious drugs seeped into her mind.

"Business meetings," came the same rough voice.

"What is he on?" she asked watching him as he glared around the room.

"That's just… him," he said with a shrug.

She glanced to a badge above the man's breast pocket. It read Frost. She figured it was something like a nametag, or a name on a sports jersey. Everyone in the Joker's crew had one.

"Go ahead," he said signaling to the other women in the room. "Dance for him. Like you did before."

 _I wasn't dancing for the fucking Joker_ , she thought, laughing to herself suddenly.

She swayed in and out of some dream, "Only," Frost's voice ricocheted through her slowed mind, "no touching. He doesn't do that…"

It was the last thing she remembered.


	5. red bull

Hello again, thank you all for the loads of favs and alerts. Shout out to ruinedsandwich for your continued reviews. Your user name makes me smile every time I see it, lol. Anyways, this fanfic has actually ruined my life lately since it's all I can think about. I hope I can keep up these speedy updates with my last fall semester of school right around the corner. It will probably slow down to once a week. We shall see! Onward~

* * *

 _v ; red bull_

Harleen gazed out the library window to the sight of a brick wall. She sipped her espresso.

 _There was nothing unpresumptuous about the man. He assumed I would write this. He knew I would be mystified. And, he lived for every moment of it._

She closed her eyes, a fierce pain pounding in her head.

 _The Joker is a nameless man with a hundred different facades. To call him insane would be incorrect, yet, this plea has obviously helped him avoid the electric chair countless times. After many sessions, it appears he is completely self-aware. Any mentally ill person, as grievously ill as him, could never comprehend their own instability. And yet, he does. It begs the question;_

 _Is he writing this essay, or is Doctor Serano?_

Harleen rested her face in her hands.

She couldn't get him out of her head. He circled around like a merry-go-round.

It drove her to the campus library where she spent hours pulling up essays on the man. She was currently stuck on an interesting one; The Killing Joke by Doctor Serano. Possibly the most famous psychiatrist to treat him. Of course, she never got too far with him. But that had been nearly a decade ago, on his first trip to Arkham Asylum.

Harleen remembered the news clip so vividly. She was in high school. Cheerleading practice had ran past 10pm. She got home in time to catch the late re-run of the news. And there was his face. A blurry image of him mid-cackle. Holding an entire bank hostage.

It had all of Gotham buzzing. Who was this man? He lingered somewhere between Stephen King's It and Al Capone.

She had another sip of her espresso.

Of course, she was captivated then. And, every time he managed to slip from Arkham's hold, she'd be waiting to hear of his next heist. Not that she enjoyed learning of some of his more gory gimmicks. There was just always a part of her that was sickly interested.

And, when she decided to become a psychiatrist herself, there wasn't a part of her that didn't anticipate an audience with him.

Little did she know just what sort of circumstances that meeting would be under.

She looked back to the blinding computer screen.

Thoughts of that night came back to her in sudden recollections. The entire next day was riddled with drowsiness. And today was riddled with questions.

The sight she'd seen after blinking to alertness the next morning, alone in the VIP lounge… That would haunt her for the rest of her life, she imagined.

 _The internship,_ she suddenly remembered. Arkham would be so empty without him there. Who was as interesting as The Joker, after all? She mused the idea of sitting across from Killer Croc.

 _So tell me, what was your mother like…?_

She grabbed her bag and logged out of the database.

Just then, her phone vibrated with a text.

 _BIIIITCH WHAT_

Chic. She figured her own silence on the fact their club had been turned into a gruesome murder scene was alarming to her dear friend.

Harleen typed up a quick message before sending it off.

 _Come over, I'll be there in 10_

* * *

Harleen flicked on the news as Chic sat chewing her manicure on Harleen's couch.

"And Mr. Chang, too!" cried Chic, "They said he'd been dealing with that psycho under the table for years. Damn… just one wrong move. That poor idiot…"

Harleen took a seat next to her friend.

"I can't believe it. All of them just… gone."

"Real shit," replied Chic shaking her head. "I guess you never know when it's your time to go… Even Diamond didn't know. And that bitch was into that tarot card shit."

"Where are you gonna work now?" asked Harleen gently.

"Ritz's. I know they ain't got nothin but tricks and hos. I don't got another choice."

Harleen looked back to the TV.

Images of the crime scene at The Gin and Bare It flickered across the screen. Bodies in bags. Yellow tape stretching over the area. And then, they showed a shaky phone video of the Joker as he sauntered through the club.

"Oh shit, here it is again," moaned Chic. "When will they stop talking about this crap?"

"It's reported that the Joker brought a few of Gotham's biggest mobsters together all to plan their ruthless murder," came the casual voice of a reporter. "All involved were said to have had poor finical dealings with the mad man. Very few walked out alive, Sal Maroni said to be one among those lucky survivors…"

"Fuck that bastard," spat Chic.

"Earlier today we interviewed the only eye witness. A dancer who managed to escape before the Joker had his way with the others."

"NO!" gasped Chic as Harley's heart skipped a beat. A familiar stripper came into the screen. The dancer with the 10 grand chest…

"What did you see?" asked the reporter.

The woman shook her head, "A monster, she was right. He's a monster."

"Who said that?"

"Another dancer, Harlequin… Harley Quinn?"

Harleen practically felt Chic's utter shock at the name. Her mouth gaped open as she stared to the small screen.

"Was she there that night as well?"

"Ya," she clicked her tongue, "but she walked out alive."

"She did? How?"

"Shit, you'd havta ax her."

"Tell us more about the Joker, and please watch your language, we are broadcasting live…"

"Half my fuckin friends is dead and your ass is tellin me to watch my language?" retorted the dancer enraged.

The reporter awkwardly cleared her throat, "My apologies, and apologies to our viewers at home. Please, go on with what you saw."

The dancer mumbled to herself before finding her next sentence.

"He wasn't no different than any other customer…"

"But did he say anything? Make any threats against the citizens of Gotham? Any hints as to what is to come?"

"Nah."

"Then what was his purpose?"

She thought for a moment. "He was only there for uh… a good time. Something else only that _Harley Quinn_ ho would know about."

" _Bitch!_ " yelled Harleen getting another glare from Chic.

"He took a liking to her? Are you saying the Joker has a soft spot, after all?"

The girl sniffed looking into the camera, "I don' know about that. All I know is she a cold hearted snake. Stepped over bodies like they was passed out at a frat party."

Harleen's mouth became unhinged as the news anchor thanked the woman for sharing her story and casually changed the subject to the election.

" _Harlequin?!"_ asked Chic.

Harleen was too angered to realize her friend's shock.

"That bitch! Making up that shit for the whole city to see! As if the Joker actually-"

" _HARLEQUIN?!"_ Chic repeated.

Harleen looked to her, suddenly realizing the trouble she was in.

"Just to let you know, I didn't pick that name," she said timidly.

Chic's mouth could catch superman if he decided to fly by.

" _GIRL."_

"I can explain this whole thing to you, just let me-"

"Explain what? I can't even-" she sputtered, uncertain what to think. "Bitch, you better say somethin real fast!"

"Mr. Chang called me pleading to cover for a private party I said okay cause I thought I'd make some good cash but then I get there and shit! The place is swarming with white dudes. Ya know the type stupid enough to trust The Joker? So he said they'd like to see me go on I never thought you'd have to know-" she gasped, all in one breath. Chic blinked to her.

She cocked her head, "How about you get to the part wit your ass showing that crazy clown a _good time_."

"I tried to leave. I was running to the door when," she stopped herself realizing the absurdity of it, "Sal Maroni grabbed me. He drugged me and suddenly I was in the middle of some sort of cock fight between him and the… the..."

She eyed her friend hoping she'd take the hint.

Chic raised a brow, "The Joker? _The_ Joker?... AND Maroni?!"

"Yes? I think he thought I was Maroni's girl or somethin cause he stole me away from him, only to spite the guy. Like a slap in the face."

Chic had to laugh at that. "Damn, you ain't playin."

"Yeah, neither was he. Chic, the guy was so… intense." She almost smiled at the thought, but stopped herself. "He brought me back to the VIP lounge. Whatever that asshole Maroni slipped me had me fucked. I hardly remember anything after that."

"You don't remember… anything?"

She looked up to Chic, "Well, actually, sometimes it sorta comes back to me."

"Like…?"

 _Harleen blinked._

 _She saw herself falling to her knees before him._

 _He smiled to her… that smile… how sickening… how… handsome._

 _He reached out to grace her chin, his gloved hand tracing her soft cheek.  
_

 _He said something, but what...?_

 _Whatever it was, she laughed to him. Out of her mind, tripping on champagne and gangsters._

"Like, nothin too scandalous, I was just in the background, dancing for the guy. He didn't even notice me," she finally clarified. "And then I blacked out."

"And… when you woke up?"

Harleen could hardly bring herself to recall…

 _The smell of blood wafting through the air._

 _The club transformed to the aftermath of a battle field._

"I saw a lotta shit… But, I've realized, it must've been fate."

"What?"

" _The internship."_

"…What?"

"I'll do it. I'll be his Psychiatrist. I'll have an in. If he remembers me…"

"Harleen. Harl. Harley Baby. Are you still trippin?"

Harleen smiled, determination flickering before her eyes, "I'll my foot in the door, then I'll get my goddamn story."

"You'll get your ass killed is what will happen!"

"He didn't kill me. I don't know why. There has to be _some_ reason…" she bit her nails at the thought. Why had he been merciful to her? Maybe he thought she was already dead.

"And what if he gets the urge to finish the job?" Chic asked.

The notion of the Joker having any urges around her seemed preposterous. Yet, she remembered that wink he had dropped her. _It was meaningless,_ she assured herself, _and yet..._

She eyed Chic, "That's ridiculous."

"A breaking story coming in now from Arkham Asylum," the pair looked back to the TV to see a mustached man holding his ear piece with a stack of papers in his hand. "Folks, this must be a record for this endless game of cat and mouse…"

" _God fucking damnit,"_ cursed Chic as Harleen's face lit up with the news on the screen.

The Joker smirked into the camera of a pap as he was ushered into the maximum security prison. Harleen felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

"And, in record timing, the Joker is back in police custody after his latest run-in with the Batman…"


	6. lemonade

A/N: Hello again, thank you all so much for the reviews. Lol Cmnewman, Chic is life goals for me too. And thanks Toxo! Lol, maybe Harley doesn't get As but she still gets pretty good grades, she sorta tries haha. Never thought it was all that probable for her to be the top of her class...

I don't do a lot of fic reading, but some of my all-time fav stories have been intimate retellings of Harley and Joker's first meetings. I didn't notice before, but there are some great fics out rn in this fandom/movie category about this topic. I'm trying not to read them (though from what I've seen they're epic and worth ur attention) just due to the fact I want this one to be as original as I can make it. And I don't want to be swayed by what's 'popular'. Everyone captures the Joker's insanity and fragments of reality in amazingly different ways. I'm glad readers can appreciate these differences and celebrate these stories all at once. You are all simply amazing in this fandom and deserve a big high-five. Thanks for being interested!

And as a side note; the song I've listened to on repeat for this chap and coming ones is Hypnotic by Zella Day. I think it really captures Harley and the Joker…

* * *

 _vi ; lemonade_

 **1 month later**

Harleen sat before a serious looking woman with a sharply cut black bob. Joanne had the sort of face that always seemed to appear pinched and snooty, like she had just sucked off a lemon.

Harleen was accompanied by a small crowd of other young adults. Each in their best casual business wear seated before the Arkham case worker as she lectured before them.

"This internship will be one of two things for each of you," said Joanne. "Either, the best choice you'll ever make, or the last one," she said bluntly. Harleen felt her heart leap with excitement. A smile appeared on her face. The woman noticed.

"Something funny, Miss?"

She frowned as all eyes fell on her.

"Sorry," she said shifting uncomfortably. "It's only… finally getting hands on experience, in Arkham Asylum of all places!" she gushed.

The girl next to her, a mousy looking girl with thick glasses and a tweed blazer rolled her eyes.

"Is she serious?" she laughed in a catty whisper to another beside her. Harleen glared to her out the corner of her eye.

Joanne rose a brow, "Well, this isn't exactly Disneyland, honey."

Harleen felt her face grow red as the room mumbled in laughter.

She'd come all the way to Arkham Asylum, gone through the perviest pat down security had to offer, and now, as she sat in some florescent little room, this pretentious lady had the nerve to treat her like a moron. She'd even spent some of that stripper cash on a TJ Max blazer and new plastic glasses.

And that essay she submitted. God, was that a pain in the ass. Nothing about the acceptance process had been easy. Even those letters of recommendation had her bent more ways than an origami swan, literally.

Yet, the woman had looked her over with a cold eye. She'd been a bit taken back, along with everyone else in the room, by Harleen's red lipstick, hot-roller curled hair, and tight pencil skirt. Not exactly the usual Gotham State Alumni who wandered in.

Joanne looked back to the crowd of interns. "It's life or death in here, on a good day. Once these inmates know your face, your world changes. You'll see things that you can't speak of and, believe me, you won't want to."

Eyes widened to her. Each person in the room had a different horror show playing in their mind. Harleen was the only one who didn't feel fear from the woman's warnings. With each pound of her heartbeat, she felt the sweet rush of adrenaline.

"There's some paperwork we'll need to get through. Then you'll be needing IDs made. Once that's all out of the way," she smiled back to Harleen as she glanced up from the floor, "the grand tour of the happiest place on earth."

* * *

Harleen followed Joanne and the small crowd as they traveled through the staff cafeteria, down never-ending hallways, and to a few information desks. All the while, Harleen gazed about doe-eyed. It was real. All of it. She could hardly believe she was standing in the center of the place. It was like a medieval castle, hosting dragons and monsters in its grasps.

Joanne pressed her thumb to a lock pad and smiled back to the group as it scanned her print. "Once you're in the system after today, it will recognize your fingerprints as well. These hallways are under constant surveillance. We don't cut corners, every inch of this place is monitored."

 _And he still manages to break out every time,_ Harleen mused.

They walked down a flight of stairs before coming to a darker hallway.

Joanne casually smiled to a security guard. Harleen glanced to a steel door that two guards stood by, their waiting guns, on the ready.

"Maximum security," said Joanne, "the most guarded prison this side of the world."

She kept strolling on as Harleen lingered at the sight beyond the guarded door. Through the window, she could see a cage in the center of a room.

"Yet, I think you'll be more interested in this next section…" the woman's voice carried on as Harleen felt an odd twinge of sadness.

It was a like a zoo, minus any sense of kindness. These inmates came here to rot and die alone.

They walked on, entering through a bolted door. A security guard promptly asked them to sign a log, marking their entrance.

Once inside, the group glared down the eye of an endless corridor of grim cellblocks and dull guards.

Lights flickered above head and a smell of something sewer-like struck their senses violently.

"God, what is that smell?" asked an intern.

"Smells like shit," said another.

"You mean like death," came another still.

Joanne smirked, "Recently, we had to make adjustments for one of our more… special needs inmates. We are always willing to make accommodations here."

Harleen covered her nose with the back of her hand, looking wide-eyed to the cellblocks they passed. The confines distinctly lacked the decorum of the upstairs. Dirt crusted the rusty gates of the cells. The guards stood uninterested before cell doors. It was mundane as a daycare, and as hopeful as a home for the elderly.

"Our isolation cellblock," said Joanne, "for our most dangerous guests. You'll find some pretty notorious characters in here, at the moment."

Harleen felt her pulse race as she looked to each door. Names read across plates. Numbers on each door. _But where was he…?_

She could sense she was being stared at. But not only an interested glance. Eyes were peering through cracks in walls, blazing into her with dark interest. She carried on. Her heels clicking against the grimy floor, the noise echoing down the hall accompanied with random yells and screams of agony.

That was when they passed it. She stopped before the door.

"Patent 0. I believe you'll recognize the name," said Joanne pompously to the interns.

Harleen felt faint. Could he be so close? Was only he only just beyond the-

"He's not home at the moment," she continued. Harleen looked back to her.

The group whispered to one another.

"She's talking about the Joker, Gemma…" said a girl beside Harleen.

"Disgusting…" sneered the girl clad with glasses. "Wouldn't you just barf if you saw him?"

"No," said Harleen to the pair of girls. They looked back to her as she gazed back to his empty cell.

"Excuse me?" asked the one with glasses.

Harleen looked back to the girl before looking down to her attire.

"But, the sight of that tweed blazer. That's a different story..."

"He's in therapy now," came Joanne silencing the whispers. "But believe me, he won't mind the crowd…," she said before walking onward.

* * *

Harleen stared to the Joker. He was displayed like Chinese food under a heating lamp.

"That's Doctor Groff," said Joanne, speaking of the present psychiatrist across from the Joker, "he's been working with him for just over about a month now… Straight out of the program. A real promising Doctor..."

She hardly listened as Joanne prattled on. _There he was,_ just beyond a thick panel of glass.

The Joker casually rested back in his chair as he was strapped within the binds of a straitjacket.

The left side of his profile was facing Harleen and she figured she was mostly out of his sight. Even so, he must have been aware of the twelve other gawking interns.

It was jarring seeing him without his usual facial makeup. He was practically bare in the bright room. Open, and ready to read like a book, thought Harleen.

She watched as the man he was seated across from seemed to be talking at him. Not to him. Not attempting to engage him at all. The Joker looked absolutely drained as he stared to the tabletop between them. She wondered what sort of drugs the Doctor had him prescribed to. Probably ones powerful enough to subdue an elephant.

Harleen became entranced by him, she mentally traced the profile of his face. His gritty tattoos… That shocking green hair… his strong alluring jaw…

"I'll never forget the first time I saw him," said Joanne quietly to the stunned crowd, "it still haunts me."

 _You're telling me._

"It was back when only we called him the Joker. It started out as an inside joke, if you can believe it. It's a funny story, actually-"

Her voice went on as she began to walk away. Harleen didn't move until she was the last person still standing in front of the window. She slowly began to move on as not to lose track of the group, yet kept her eyes on him. That was when he happened to casually glance her way.

The world went into slow motion as she walked past him. Their eyes lingering on one another's for a long moment. Even when she glanced to the floor she could still feel his gaze consuming her. A shiver ran over her skin. It was a high she'd never felt before. Not even that little heart-shaped pill she took at a rave once could match it.

The Joker smiled to himself as Doctor Groff droned on about some mind- numbingly dull topic. To him, it was as if someone had handed him an exit from Arkham on a silver platter… in a 20 dollar skirt.

 _They made these things too easy, sometimes._

* * *

It would be a good long two weeks until she would see him again. It was something she learned in that first few days on the job. Everything at Arkham went slowly. Once you stepped into the building, it was as if time ceased to exist at all. All who entered were stuck waiting in limbo. Not quite living and, for whatever reason, not dead yet either.

Minutes either felt like hours, or passed unnoticed at all.

Harleen had been placed on an assignment with Gemma, go figure. She even wore that same tweed blazer every day just to grind Harleen's gears. Every time she caught that smug face of her's eyeing her wrong, she make another tally in her head. Once the toll got high enough, she'd show that little icy cold bitch a good time in the parking lot. She wondered if there was a way to smuggle a baseball bat into the subway…

One afternoon, the pair had sat quietly before computers in a small office, researching whatever topic Joanne had left for them. Harleen had figured the most exciting part of the day would be inwardly making jabs at Gemma's new chunky, brass toned, highlights.

 _At least my bleached hair wasn't purchased at CVS,_ she thought snidely.

That was, until, a tall, lanky, woman with silky black hair strolled in. She had an air about her that reeked of self-importance. Harleen was instantly captivated.

The woman stopped before Gemma and smiled holding out her hand.

"You must be Miss Quinzel, I've got to tell you, I've read that essay several times…"

Gemma uncertainly took the woman's hand but only stared up to her in confusion.

"Um… hi!" said Harleen waving to her, peeking up from behind her computer.

"Uh... that's Miss Quinzel," said Gemma quietly.

The woman looked to the girl, hit over the head with her gaudy appearance.

"Oh," she said turning away from Gemma. "Of course it is."

"Pleased to meet ya," said Harleen extending a hand to the woman. She offered a wide smile, instantly dismissing the awkward confusion.

The woman smiled back, "You as well. I'm Doctor Serano."

Harleen's mouth fell open before she laughed in disbelief to the woman.

"Doctor!" she gasped, "God... I've read the Killing Joker thirty times! And I've seen the movie even more!"

The Doctor forced a smile, "I'm flattered."

" _You_ liked my essay?" she asked in shock.

"Liked it? Harleen, that was something… impressive."

Harleen giddily giggled before looking to Gemma whose eyed darted back to her computer screen.

"It was entrancing," the Doctor went on, "romantic, poetic, and medical. It caught the eye of quite a few people here."

"Thanks," she said breathily, "I worked really hard on it. I might have gotten carried away…"

"No, not at all. It wasn't like the man needed another paper written about him, but yours was… it was something new. I think we need that around here."

Harleen wouldn't dare to believe her ears. What was she implying?

"Would you mind coming to my office? I'd like to talk to you about a couple things."

She instantly agreed and Harleen left the cramped office space, never to return.

They entered the Doctor's lavish office. She'd been working at the Asylum for years. Her studies on the Joker had given her nation-wide fame. She'd written books. Signed movie deals. Lucy Lui had even starred as her in a movie, once. Though, the Doctor panned her portrayal as simply "reductive."

Harleen sat before several Kate Spade photo frames placed across her desk. In the back of the office, the gleaming gold of a Peabody Award stared her down, whispering to her with promises of notoriety.

"So," began Serano looking to a stack of papers on her desk, "you are the girl with the million dollar essay."

"My God, thank you!" she beamed again, "Coming from you, jeez, now there's a compliment!"

"And I noticed letter of rec from Doctor Dawson. That's not easy."

"Ah," dismissed Harleen, "here's a real softy."

 _He really was…_

"Impressive. So are your grades…

You have your masters. And you're working towards your doctorate, is that right?"

"Yup. Doctor Harleen Quinzel. Thought it had a ring to it."

"Well Harleen," she said shuffling the papers, "I want to set you on the fast track."

"How so?"

Doctor Serano's fingers stopped on a small scribbled note that had been shoved in the neat stack of Harleen's paperwork.

Every time she saw the note, it sent shivers through her body.

Ever since she'd first seen it that day, about a week ago, sitting so neatly on her office desk…

 _Bring blondie to me… or else,_ it ominously warned.

"Hands on experience," said Serano crumpling the small paper in her hand and tossing it aside.

The Joker and Serano had a lingering past. She understood him, but only in a way where she listened and respected his demands. She gave him what he wanted. All to keep her own life. He'd never been too happy about her banking on his brand. Also, he wasn't exactly pleased with that overly eccentric actor they'd cast to emulate him in that bloated Hollywood production…

When he required something, or someone, Serano was wise enough to know to cut corners. Do a little sweeping under the rug here and there. It was that, or he could end her life in a blink. She didn't see it as corrupt. As long as he was behind bars, she was willing to throw him some fresh meat his way. A merry little martyr. Who knows, she mused, she might be just the thing.

"I've noticed Joanne has you pushing papers with the other interns…"

"Yeah," Harleen sighed. "Not exactly what I expected I'd be doing…"

"Well, would you be willing to put that doctorate off for a bit? This case will take much more of your time."

"Case?" asked Harleen. "What are we talking about here?"

"I'm talking about Patient 0."

Harleen blinked, but before she had a moment to react, a man came rushing into the office.

Harleen recognized the frantic man. He was the Doctor who had been sitting across from the Joker that last time she'd seen him.

"Serano!" he cried excitedly, "Wait til you hear this!" he waved a handheld recorder before her.

"What is it?" she asked.

"The Joker blowing his metaphorical load."

Harleen became a prop in the background as he shoved the recorder in the middle of the table.

A thought crossed her mind, something about patient and doctor confidentiality. Yet, he pressed play and a raspy voice filled the room.

"As far back as I can remember… I always wanted to be a gangster," the Joker's voice, either slowed by his drugs or trying to recollect a distant memory.

"To me, being a gangster was better than being President of the United States. Even before I first wandered into the cabstand for an afterschool job I knew I wanted to be a part of them. It was there that I knew that I belonged. To me, it meant being somebody in a neighborhood that was full of nobodies. They weren't like anybody else."

Serano looked to Groff wide-eyed as he victoriously grinned. Harleen covered a smirk creeping across her lips.

"I mean, they did whatever they wanted. They double parked in front of a hydrant and nobody ever gave them a ticket. In the summer, when they played cards all night, nobody ever called the cops. Tuddy Cicero. Tuddy. Tuddy ran the cabstand in La Bella Vista Pizzeria and a few other places for his brother Paul who was the boss over everybody in the neighborhood. Paulie might have moved slow, but it was only because he didn't have to move for anybody..."

Doctor Serano could hardly believe her ears. A slip into the Joker's past. A breakthrough that the pair often dreamed of. The moment their years of work might actually have substantial proof...

"I guess you guys never saw Goodfellas."

The pair looked to Harleen, suddenly remembering she was there.

"What?" asked Groff, with a dry laugh.

"Goodfellas. Great movie. My dad used to watch it all the time when I was a kid. I had a huge crush on that Ray Liotta."

"What are you saying?" he sputtered confused. "All my hours put into this guy," he said back Serano, "I've finally cracked him!"

"Sorry to break it to ya," said Harleen again. "That's the first monologue of the movie."

Groff looked to Harleen then back to Serano who silently pursed her lips.

"Who is this girl?" he asked offended by her audacity to dismiss his findings.

"My new friend," said Serano, "and the girl replacing you."


	7. kool-aid

Hello again! So sorry for the wait. Don't worry, I'm not giving up on this story anytime soon. Also, I'm not an author who is mainly inspired by reviews but they always help in reminding me to hurry things along, so please never hesitate to send one my way. And thanks so much to those of you who did! I honestly appreciate each and everyone one of them immensely. I know it's really something coming from some of you fellow fic writers. Thank you all! Onward~

* * *

 _vii; kool-aid_

"Everyone welcome to stage Chiquita Banana!"

Harleen exclaimed with her hands over her mouth as Chic glared to her, joining her as she stood at the bar of an overpriced club.

In an odd turn of events, Harleen looked out of place at the club. She was still in her Asylum attire including a pencil skirt and blazer. Among the booty shorts and bra tops, she stuck out like a sore thumb. She had gone straight to Chic's latest gig after work in dire need of a listening ear… and maybe a closed fist to knock her back into reality. Chic would willingly supply both.

"The name Chicita was already taken by some thot wearing clear heels," Chic muttered leaning on the bar, trying to give her feet a break from her own ridiculous footwear.

"Ooh, stereotype," booed Harleen. "Any cool girls here?"

"This one bitch came up to me tellin me how she's gonna be 'the sweetest girl I'll ever meet'," she said pulling a valley girl accent and rolling her eyes.

"Shit, that's how you know she's a cunt," laughed Harleen.

"This place is boojy as hell, makes me want to go back to Ritz's."

"Come on, you can stick it out. Look! It's all businessmen and… oh shit is that Doctor Dawson?" she said ducking over as Chic laughed.

"Fuck, this shit too classy for me."

"You gotta admit it's kinda… _cool_."

Chic eyed her as Harleen laughed at her own pun.

The Iceberg Lounge flaunted many things. The first of which being a horrible name. Yet, it was one of higher end clubs in downtown Gotham and a big draw to certain types of businessmen… among other eccentric entrepreneurs.

Harleen turned to the barman, "Two shots of tequila," she ordered.

Chic grinned to her.

"And what's got your ass all smiles, tonight?"

"I'm celebrating," proclaimed Harleen, taking the small glass.

"You don't say," said Chic before the pair tapped the small glasses together and threw the golden liquid down their throats.

"Yesss," Harleen hissed is it pleasantly burned, "something… unbelievable happened."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"I was offered a promotion… like a really, _really_ big promotion."

" _Heyyy!"_ cheered Chic, dropping lower and twerking a bit as if her favorite song just come on. Harleen smiled, looking away a bit embarrassed. Chic playfully hit her shoulder. "Look at you bitch! All suit and tie!" She shook her head, adoring the sight of her beautiful friend leaning against the bar.

"I knew you would be somebody," she continued, Harleen's eyes flickered back to her as Chic took a more sincere tone. "Since the moment I saw you drop kick a guy for saying you looked like Britney Spears… when she was fuckable."

"Hey, you shame her, you shame all of white trash womanhood!"

Chic nodded as if Harleen had revealed the meaning of life.

"Ya'll see this educated woman over here!" Chic declared over the trap music, turning to the busy room. "That's my _best_ friend!" Harleen smiled and covered her face.

When no one responded she frowned back to Harleen.

"They some hatin motherfuckers. Wait til they see you on TV, girl. Or your own book! No, your own daytime talk show. You know what, I bet your ass will geta movie deal too. Just like that other whatsherface bitch. Everything you've been dreaming-"

"They want me to treat the Joker."

Chic stopped, her mouth snapping closed. The bartender glanced back to Harleen for a second.

"What now?" asked Chic dumbfounded.

Harleen ran a finger over her lips, looking away from Chic, away from the bar, away from the buzzing downtown streets. She was miles gone, in some cell, sitting on his lap…

"Doctor Serano herself offered me a session with him. They liked my essay. They think… I could, uh, _cure_ him."

Chic said nothing. Harleen looked to her.

"Well?" she asked.

"Well what?" questioned Chic looking down to her empty shot glass. "That's all you wanted. To help that sick sonafabitch."

"Chic, I didn't tell you this shit to get some cut and dry answer. This could be something big!"

"What do you want me to say? You're going to do it no matter what I tell ya. It's what you wanted…" she looked to Harleen, knowing what she wanted to hear, "It could make you famous."

Harleen's heart leapt at the word, though it came with a lingering feeling of doubt.

"Yeah, but now that I'm facing it…" she said, her voice trailing off.

She imagined herself sitting in front of him as he glared to her. No one else. No distractions. No witnesses. Just her and the mob King of Gotham.

"What if he remembers me? What will he think of me? Just some dumb stripper who managed to get a degree…?"

"Hey!" interfered Chic, "Give yourself some credit. You was a smart stripper."

Harleen smiled and Chic did as well.

"Like you said before," she added, "be hardly noticed you that night, anyway…"

Harleen recalled what blurry memory she had of the night. The thoughts made her legs tremble and her palms grow damp.

Was his face just an inch before hers? Or was it only some fantasy… the way she wanted to remember it…?

"You got this shit, Harl," said Chic. "Own it. Stare him in the eye like the bad bitch you are. He's only a man."

Harleen pondered the notion. The only thing one of those ever offered her was sex or rewards due to sex.

"And drink the goddamn kool-aid," she added.

Harleen nodded to her, suddenly a bit more assured.

"You're right," she said looking to Chic as her dark features were strikingly illuminated by the neon lights, "You know, I'm proud you're my friend, too."

"Aw bitch… I know."

* * *

The night before her first day treating the Joker, Harleen couldn't find sleep. But something close to it came between 4am and the eighth YouTube conspiracy video she watched. They were all alike, all claiming the Joker was a distraction made up by the government. Or, maybe he was more than one man. Or still, possibly something paranormal. An immortal vampire forever meant to curse Gotham. The notions made sleep practically impossible.

And, if it wasn't for her memory of a trippy dream, she'd have sworn she hadn't slept at all.

She was back at The Gin. It was the night she had met him. But it was different. She was different. She was like the other strippers; confident, alluring, eyeing men down like she knew her worth self-worth.

Suddenly, she found herself thrown into a fantasy world. Reality became as tangible as a dream. The dream was the only reality. And she was laughing in what seemed to be a black hole. Nothing around. And nobody. But him. The Joker smiled to her with that signature wicked rictus. And then, they laughed together. It wasn't until she looked down that she noticed the bloodied bodies that laid at their feet.

She'd always known she'd get what she wanted. But to have it all, in the span of a week, it was terrifying.

And him. _Him_.

Who was he? What would she ask him? How would he respond?

The day came like any other day. It was sunny. The weather seemed stuck in the dead of winter. Gotham rested coolly beneath steel and glass. Harleen tapped her kitten heels as she sat on the subway until she arrived at the station.

All it took was one good day, she thought. One day to change her life for the better. No more fucking men for grades. No more begging her parents for money. No more strippers in plastic platforms. No more. From now on, she was who she always wanted to be. The girl who was put together. The girl who knew who she was.

The perverted guards patted her down with their fat, hungry, hands as leisurely as usual.

The kind of girl who looked you in the eye so you could admire her perfectly flicked eyeliner. The kind of girl who's panties matched her bra. The kind of girl who didn't ask questions, but demanded the truth.

She met Doctor Serano who handed her a binder of paperwork and quickly lead her to the bowels of the Asylum.

Harleen suddenly realized she was a doctor. Doctor Harleen Quinzel. Minus the doctorate. But who needed a flimsy piece of paper anyway?

It wasn't until she was sitting in a small dingy room that the reality seemed to strike her.

And, it was too late to turn back.

* * *

"Another kid, Doc?" Asked a security guard looking through a window to Harleen as she sat alone. Doctor Serano stood beside him after seating Harleen and instructing her to wait for the Joker to be escorted in. The Doctor stared to her with a wary eye.

It wasn't the same shiny room Groff had used, it was carefully hidden away. Somewhere wandering eyes wouldn't happen to look.

"Why is it you always throw him the young ones?" asked the grizzled man, rubbing his thick beard.

"Well. They're naive enough to think they can change him, Grim. They still have a twinkle in their eye, poor things."

The guard she called Grim nodded, though he wasn't sure why.

"He'll snuff it out soon enough. He always does," she added bitterly.

"This one. She's pretty. Cute little thing," Grim said dismayed, "You think that's smart?"

Serano wanted to laugh. She herself had only been a few years older than Harleen the first time she was thrown to madman. It didn't take long before he turned her into a haggard, sleep deprived, neurotic. The man didn't want 'cute' he wanted death and decay.

"Didn't they say it was beauty killed the beast?"

He laughed uncertain, "I don't think they've met this beast."

"Gotta keep him busy somehow. Or else his mind will start ticking. Then it will only be a matter of days before he's back on the streets."

"…How'd you pick er, anyway?"

Serano looked to the man, "She wrote the most pretentious essay on him. I swear, she must have had one hand on the keyboard and one between her legs."

Grim smirked eyeing Harleen as she crossed her slim ankles.

"Lucky guy. Why does this bastard always get so much attention?"

"Murder a few hundred people and wear some guyliner, Grim. You'll see what sort of women start throwing their panties at you."

Just then, figures emerged from around the corner at the end of the hallway. Serano blinked at the sight of two guards escorting the Joker towards them.

"And the devil shall appear…" she mumbled as Grim went to open the door.

The Joker smirked to Serano, making her sickeningly aware of their clandestine deal. She glared to him in return, though she knew it was only some staring contest to the man.

"Morning, Doctor," he said smoothly before disappearing into the room.

Serano watched as he left her sight. She wasn't heartless, much to her surprise. She even felt a bit of guilt knowing she was giving him just what he wanted. Yet, she couldn't help but wonder why. Why Harleen of all people? Sure, she was beautiful, in a girl next door sort of way. Even if he did manage to have a type, the Doctor never would have deduced it would be someone so classically, and normally, good looking as her.

"God speed, kid," she said quietly.

* * *

Harleen had sat anxiously waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

She knew Serano would be keeping an eye on her through the session. Technically, she was working with her as to still hold her position as a learning intern.

Of course, she hadn't asked many questions when offered the chance to sit with the Joker. She figured they must have just known she was the one who understood him.

And then, the door cracked open as a buzzing alarm sounded. Harleen jumped at the noise and suddenly felt faint. Before she could regain her composure, two guards entered on either side of the Joker as they roughly ushered him in by the arms.

He strolled across the room by his own free will, as if he wasn't bound by a straightjacket and overweight men.

Harleen shifted in her seat, immediately setting her attention on the stack of medical papers before her.

The guards shoved him in the chair across from her and handcuffed him to the metal.

Harleen had already glanced over the papers a hundred times. But suddenly, it was if she was looking at gibberish.

 _Patient 0,_ it read, _known as the Joker. Age: Unknown assumed to be 42-44._

Her eyes nervously jumped around the paper as she realized he was looking to her.

"See you soon," said a guard.

"Behave," warned the other.

They nodded to Harleen who quickly nodded back. Playing it as if she had done it before.

She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and cleared her throat before the door gently shut sounding off the alarm that, again, caused her to jump slightly.

Just like that, she was alone in a darkly lit room with the Clown Prince of Crime.

 _Holy shit._

"Harleen Quinzel," she spat without giving herself a moment to think, "pleasure to meet you."

She held out her hand before realizing his were confined.

"Oh," She said quickly puling it back. "Sorry, I… Forgot." She smiled to him and bashfully met his gaze.

There he was no HD googled image that did the man justice. He was so… colorful, she thought. Like a bird of paradise. His emerald hair that hung over his face. Even his white skin up close possessed tinges of purple and blue. And his eyes… How had she never notice before? As those large orbs stared to her she realized they were the most amazing blue she had ever seen.

She looked away, still nervously smiling. He smiled back.

"The pleasure is all mine… Doctor," he said breathily.

He seemed to emphasize the word, ever so slightly. It caused her to look to him wide-eyed. She was a good number of years away from that title. And the way he said it, it was almost as if he'd _known_.

She reminded herself of the girl she had decided to be. She sat up an inch straighter and shifted through blank pages of her binder to her prepared questions.

"I'll be going over with you just a short introduction to what I plan to cover in or meetings," the words fell from her lips as her heart raced. He watched her curiously.

"I really hope to learn about you," she added earnestly, then regretted it, wondering if it sounded too needy.

He had been somewhat quiet, merely taking in her presence. This little blonde girl sitting before him… her existence made no sense. Was she coming or was she going? Was she a doctor or was she a whore on the corner? Did she even know? All though, he always did admire a working girl himself…

"Don't seem so nervous," he said leaning in suddenly. Her eyes looked to him, large and taken back. "I'm not gonna hurt ya."

Her mouth parted slightly. Her doe eyes struck by the intensity of his.

"I'm - uh, not nervous. It's just, you're quite… notorious."

 _I hate myself,_ she inwardly moaned. _What clichéd choice of words and a predictable reaction. What happened to him being 'just a man'?_

"Oh, am I?" he smirked wickedly. She felt herself grow hot under her white smock and sweat dampen her armpits.

"You must be aware of what they say…" she went on, hoping she would end on something professional sounding. "Do you think what you do is worthy of all that attention?"

"I'm merely a player on the stage of life. Reviews are unneeded though, sometimes they help _business_."

The way his raspy voice caressed the word, she figured he meant something less than professional.

"Even those who claim you're insane?"

"No publicity is bad publicity."

"And your publicity has you in custody more often than out."

His lips pulled up at one end, "What? And quit show business?" He asked rhetorically before chuckling a bit.

"Why don't you tell me what you do, why you're here?"

"It isn't in those politically correct papers?" he questioned glancing down at the table.

"I want to hear it from your mouth."

He paused for a moment, his mind mulling over this and that before he glanced back to her.

"I'm only here because they don't… _get it."_

She was aware of that he found immense pleasure in his more methodical acts of breaking the law. Also, she knew that his broad schemes usually had some sort of twisted message that the 'normal' people of Gotham were blind to. All in all, his stunts only made sense to him. Anyone else who was found laughing at his jokes had been locked away in padded cell years ago.

"Comedy is a rare gift, you know," he went on. "There's a timing to it. A fragility. And wouldn't you know? Everyone's a critic," he added, the thought seeming to leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

She realized she hadn't been taking notes.

 _Shit._

She fumbled with her binder before dropping her pen. He watched as it rolled off the side of the table.

 _Shit fuck._

She quickly bent over to get it, unconsciously giving him a clear view down her shirt.

She was like a helpless lamb, he mused, skipping to the slaughter house… or maybe, the laughter house. He smirked.

She sat back up and cleared her throat again.

"Do you think you belong here?" she questioned.

He only waited a beat before answering, "I belong right here. Where I am. In front of you."

She jotted down a sentence or two.

 _Damned if I know what the hell he means by that…_

"It's funny, we always end up where we're meant to be…" he continued before seemingly having a new thought jump into his head. "You know, you don't look like them. You're not dead between the eyes."

She narrowed her brow looking back to him.

"Do you think _you_ belong here, Doctor Quinzel…?" he asked causing her lose any cohesive form of thought.

"I'll have you know I've worked very hard to be sitting here."

"That's interesting," he pondered the notion looking away from her. "I've seen people work pretty hard to get away from me..."

"Well not me," she added bravely. "This is my life's work."

"And this is mine," he said glancing back her way. "Only you get paid to be here. I'm losing money."

She gaped to him before taking back to her pen and paper. He seemed genuinely angered by the notion as a darkness came over his persona. She decided to change the subject.

"How have you been feeling? Doctor Groff as you on quite the array of pills."

"Lonely," he breathed. "Nothing but four walls for company. It's enough to drive a man _wild_."

"Do you usually seek company? Feel a need to be around others?" she asked gently.

"No… But take away the choice. I find myself itching for a good chat."

"A chat?"

"Friendly banter. Water cooler small talk. How's the old lady? Who won the game? Do you mind if I use you for target practice?"

She couldn't tell if he was pulling her leg. Did he really miss such mundane encounters? Did he even have such mundane encounters?

"Do you ever miss people when your here?"

He sat back in his chair.

"I miss using them for target practice."

She was curious to know his relations with people. Caring for others would rule out complete sociopath behavior. Could there be a caring soul somewhere lingering behind his pale façade?

"Do you miss anyone specifically?"

"Jerry let me nail him in the leg with a M9 bayonet once. Good guy. He's sorta dead now."

"I mean, is there one person who means _something_ to you?"

"I always appreciate a loyal sadist."

"What about… romantically?"

He stopped, smiling to her. He leaned in as she pulled back an inch.

"Are you asking me if I'm single, Doc?"

She blushed and laughed nervously.

"It's alright, I appreciate a forward girl," he said making sure to eye her from the lips down as far as his eye could see.

 _Um. Hold on._

"I'm only asking because it's my job…"

 _Uh oh. Oh no. No, no, no._

"Of course," he smiled back to her, his teeth gleaming in the light. "No judgment."

 _God. How is this getting worse?_

Suddenly, he wasn't just black and white print in a wordy essay. He was clever. Charming even. Easy enough to talk to… So yearning for someone to hear…. Completely alive before her.

"We were on a roll there. Why don't you continue-"

"Don't get too excited, Doc," he said cutting her off. "I don't kiss on the first date…"

The double meaning was clear to Harleen, though the notion made her face burn.

"Forgive me, Mister… Joker," she began, but stopped for a breath.

The name sounded so awkward leaving her lips.

"J," He said simply. She wondered if she'd heard him correctly.

"Mister… J?"

 _Hook. Line. Sinker._ He grinned. He couldn't tell if he was more pleased with himself or the willing little girl across from him. She was so eager. So nervous. So… good.

"I only ask because I want to know you. I won't tell anyone. I'm not like Serano or Groff…"

"What, exactly, do you want to know?"

"Well… Everything," she admitted naively.

"Do you really want to you?"

"Yeah," she nodded feeling her heart race wildly.

"Don't agree to something you don't understand the weight of. Do you, want to know, every… last… secret?" he asked, the weight of his words hanging between the two of them.

She stared to him nervously. Her mind screamed no. Her veins pumped with Adrenaline. And a more animalistic part tingled with anticipation, and what would happen if she said…

"Yes!"

"Ohhh," he sighed smiling widely to her, "my dear, Doctor. I can tell we're going to get along."

The buzzer sounded and the doors opened.

She shuffled her papers and was careful not to meet his eye again as the men came to escort him away.

Once he was out of the room, Harleen joined Doctor Serano in the hallway.

The Doctor smiled to her reassuringly.

"You did great, Harleen. It looked as if you were really able to get something from him…"

Her voice prattled on, and all though Harleen smiled to her various compliments and nodded along with her, she couldn't resist taking a last glance back at the Joker before he was out of sight.

Of course, she would regret such a decision.

Just before he turned the corner, he spared a moment to give her a smirk accompanied with a lingering wink.

"Until next time," he called back to her getting Serano's attention as well,

"Harley…"


	8. irish coffee

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews! Sunshineeandflowerss, I'm pretty sure Harley is canonically in her mid-twenties, in this story I like to think she's 25. Lol, thank you Morzan's Elvish Daughter for liking how my chapters are named after drinks. I'm having some fun with that.

Thanks so much to each and every one of you for supporting my story! Onward~

* * *

 _viii; irish coffee_

Serano strolled down the isolation cell blocks somewhere past the witching hour. She had waited the entire day for the more lax night shift of security guards to arrive. Once they did, she was assured just a flash of her ID and a short spiel of doctoral speak would grant her anything she wanted.

As she planned, once she sauntered before the men standing before the cell, they were quick to unlock the door for her.

Though, one guard stopped her briefly, realizing she was completely unarmed.

"I can't permit you to enter without the proper…" he looked her over, "attire."

She eyed him viciously.

"We're old friends," she assured him.

He rose a brow, "I didn't know the freak had those."

"We don't like to brag about it," she said dryly, he persisted still.

"If you're planning to go in there alone, I don't think you'll live to talk about it."

She glared to him frustrated, "He's had more than enough chances to kill me… Now I suggest you let me in before he gets the chance to shank you with the toothbrush he's been sharpening all day."

The man looked to the other guard concerned before nodding back to Serano and turning to unlock the door.

The heavy door swung open and he stepped to the side allowing her to enter the dimly lit room.

"10 mintues," she said quietly before the guards nodded and shut the door.

Serano took in the small quarters before her eyes fell on the man with the lime-colored hair.

The Joker leisurely leaned against the wall as he sat up in bed. He wasn't wearing a shirt, only sweatpants that read Arkham down the leg like he was a frat boy representing his college.

"Hellooo nurse," he greeted her cheerily.

She noticed dark smears on the wall accompanied with a peculiar metallic sent. She glanced to see a bloody gash across his arm.

"If your plan is to acquire suicide watch, I doubt it will get much attention. There are plenty in here that dream of seeing you swinging from the ceiling."

He looked to her lazily before smiling.

"Ah, my good Doctor. Your senses of humor never fails to make me smile."

He swung his legs over the bed and got up to stand across from her.

She suddenly felt a bit less confident. She glanced over his bare upper body. He was always more toned than she would have anticipated.

"And who might I thank for getting such a special visit?" he questioned.

She crossed her arms. "I'm here on my own will."

"Ohh," he said raising his brow, "missing our little meetings, are you? I was feeling a bit nostalgic myself."

"Not really," she dismissed. "Who is she, J? Where does she fit into your plan?"

The Joker reveled in her reveal. Also, the thought of that eager blonde brought a smile back to his lips.

"Why Doctor, if I wasn't a wiser man, I would assume you are jealous…"

She frowned in disgust, "Try again."

"I saw you watching us. That look of longing for more relevant times. Your face in every paper. Your name leaving the mouth of every rube in Gotham… You do remember those days, don't you?"

She looked away from him, bitterly reminded of her luxurious past. Times that brought her every sorrow she never could have imagined.

"How dare you," she said quietly.

"Don't worry," he said cocking his head to meet her gaze, "I still keep your little secrets, don't I?" He took a step closer, closer than Serano felt comfortable. Yet, she would have been a fool to back down from the man. In that way, he was like a wild tomcat. Only interested in prey that ran from him.

"And I think," he continued, "you're off the hook, for now. I have new doctor, one I wouldn't mind getting a visit from in the middle of the night…"

He turned away from her, looking back to the wall that was smeared with his blood.

She squinted her eyes to the wall, trying to make sense of the disordered lines.

"She's only a kid. Hardly out of school."

He smiled to himself.

"Why does she interest you? She's average and predictable."

"You see," he said looking to his work in progress on the wall, "I think you're very wrong about that."

She shook her head, "She won't last the week."

"Mistaken again," he answered jauntily, turning back to her.

"Then why don't you tell me what makes you so certain about her?"

He seemed to think for a moment, she could only imagine what deviated thoughts brought such a mischievous smirk to his face.

"I'll tell you, but only if you do another little favor for me," his hand reached to brush against the collar of her smock but she instantly pulled back.

He seemed taken back by her reaction as she glared to him.

"You're out of my life, I don't know if you've realized that or not."

"Really? Because last I've checked, I still got you right beneath my thumb… just where you belong."

He reached out to her face, roughly pinching her cheek. She sneered, jerking her head away from him.

"You've earned your last favor from me," she spat. He didn't like that at all.

" _Listen,"_ he growled, his face a breath from hers as she gasped in fear, "I'm not in the particular mood to bargain. Unless you want your husband to have another, unfortunate accident."

"You wouldn't…" she gasped, knowing full well he would.

He raised a finger as if to reprimand her, "You know how to make me happy, Doc. And I don't want to go through all the muss and fuss," he moaned. "Would you believe there's paperwork involved?"

She took a moment to find the voice to speak, "What do you want?"

"Ahhh, there she is…" he voiced his approval, backing away.

She lowered her head, defeated. He walked to mirror hanging over a sink.

He gazed to his reflection, smoothing a hand through his messy emerald hair.

"Hair gel would not go amiss."

She looked to him wondering if he was joking.

He smiled back to her, "Among other things."

"Like what?" she asked coldly.

"I'll keep meeting with her," he said back to the mirror, "alone. And I don't think there's really a need for a straightjacket."

She looked a bit horrified, he noticed and dismissed her fears.

"You know me, Doc. Vulgar crimes aren't my forte."

She almost smirked ironically at his way of thinking.

The guards outside the iron door gave it a few knocks.

"Serano!" one man called, "You still okay in there?"

"Yes," she called back, "just another moment."

She met the Joker's eye in the mirror.

"So you want me stop at Walgreens?" she asked condescendingly, "I'll make sure to grab some red lipstick."

"Oh!" he exclaimed, "Above and beyond!"

"But the girl-"

"The girl will make or break our deal," he warned darkly. "It's all or nothing, Catherine."

He had her back against a wall, like so many times before.

"Fine," she finally said. "So tell me, what the fuck are you planning with her?"

"Not so quick, Doc," he said reclining back on the bed, resting his hands behind his head. His long, lean, body stretched out. "Enjoy the foreplay, will ya?"

He laughed to himself and she turned to the door.

* * *

Harleen hadn't thought of much else after the Joker had uttered that criminalizing nickname of hers. What had the MC called her that night? _Harley Quinn?_ For some reason, it was the clearest memory she had from the night. That, and the faces of the men as she performed a few back handsprings. Finally, years of gymnastics and cheerleading had proved to be of some use.

As far as she was concerned, there was no coincidence. He had called her Harley and given her a wink, just as he had that night. He remembered. And it filled her with confusion.

Part of her was thrilled by the notion, something like the rush of running a red light. Another part of her wanted to go into hiding, changer her name, maybe move to Quebec. Yet, a stronger part of her had too many questions to quit now. She still had pretty fuzzy memories from that night. She recalled just enough to nag her, like an itch she couldn't scratch, something just out of reach. She'd bet anything he remembered, though. And she no longer saw a reason to pussyfoot around him. She promised herself she would be direct and confident. There was nothing she had to lose. As long as he bound, and with guards a shout away, she felt an assuring sense of control and safety.

Besides, she was already three chapters in to her tell all; _I'm Okay, You're Okay, He's Kind of Weird._

She figured in a month or so, she'd have enough juicy details to write a story that would put Doctor Serano's to shame. None of that lofty doctor mumbo jumbo. She knew what the people wanted. Sex, secrets, and the truth about Joker… maybe she'd call it that instead.

Harleen met with Serano before her noon appointment with the Joker. That was when Serano informed her of the news that would throw her 'control and safety' out the window.

"Are you crazy?!" Harleen cried. Serano quickly hushed her as they stood in the hallway of the therapy quarters.

"You can handle it," she said quietly, "he needs to feel comfortable with you. There's no need for me to be watching over, or for… constraints."

Harleen's mouth fell open as the Doctor repeated herself.

"Are we still talking about _him_?"

"Quinzell, I have the upmost confidence in you."

"Well, what do want me to do?" she asked shaking her head, "I've never treated anyone before, not really."

"Look at what these professors said about you! These respected Doctors!" Harleen looked away, ashamed by her praise, "you've aced the classes and passed the exams. What have you been training for, if not this?"

Harleen blinked. She realized in fucking those professors, she unintentionally had fucked herself.

"Why are you letting me do this?"

Serano kept eye contact with Harleen, though it was hard while the girl's large blue eyes pleaded the truth from her.

"I told you. You can cure him. You know who he is, and you know what you have to do."

 _Was it so simple?_

Harleen nodded and Serano reminded her of the time of her meeting.

Harleen found herself more nervous than the first day. She sat alone and tapped her foot until the buzzer sounded and the Joker walked in, clad in a pair of handcuffs escorted by the same two guards.

Yet, there was something else about him that seemed different.

His hair was smoothly combed back and his lips, curled in a smirk, were painted red. He looked a bit more like his usual self, and it turned her blood cold.

"Pleasure to see you again, Doctor," he said taking a seat and smiling to the guard who freed his hands.

Harleen smiled watching on, trying as hard as should to suppress her anxiety.

"You as well," she said politely.

In the next moment, the guards left the room, reminding her of the emergency landline that hung crooked on the wall. Not as protective as a straightjacket, but it was all she had. She anticipated reaching for it at any moment.

The Joker casually rubbed a hand over his wrist.

"In all the Asylums in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine…" he said looking to her with a grin.

Harleen made a small laugh. She knew the line was from something, maybe an old movie…

"How are you feeling?" she asked noticing his up mood and hoping to expand upon it.

He offered a small shrug, "Better, now that I'm here with you."

She looked down to her notebook paper, her mind suddenly blank.

"And how are _you_ feeling today?" he asked leaning forward. She noted how it seemed he didn't like to stay still.

"I'm good, thank you." She said quickly, "And ready to talk with you."

Her eyes fell lower, down to his pocket where something stick-like seemed to be resting. He shifted in his seat hiding the object. Her eyes snapped back to his.

"Do you start with the father or the mother?" he questioned.

"I'm sorry?" she stuttered.

"I pegged you for the Freudian type. Always the motherly figure, the root of all problems," he smirked, "I think you're too much of a daddy's girl to blame good old pops."

"Interesting assumption from a stranger…"

"We're strangers?" he asked narrowing his brow. She felt a sudden jolt to her chest.

She opened her mouth but no words managed to form. He lightened the tension by making a low chuckle.

"For strangers, we know an awful lot about each other."

She stiffened her jaw.

 _And what do you know about me?_ If only she could find the voice to ask…

"I hardly know anything about you…" she said shutting the binder with his paperwork, "I mean… _really_."

He glanced to a dark surveillance camera in the corner of the room.

"Secrets, secrets, are no fun…" he chided boyishly. Though, he never really understood the saying.

 _Secrets_ , he mused, _could be highly entertaining…_

She could only look to him, desperately wondering if he would put her out of her misery and plainly say he remembered her from the club. But no, he obviously enjoyed keeping what he knew of her to himself.

She decided to push on.

"We all have secrets. Parts of ourselves we don't want anyone else to know about."

"Is that so?"

"Do you have any? I told you last session that I wanted to know..."

He was quiet for a moment.

"Do you watch the news, Doc?"

She blinked, "When I'm home in time, I guess."

"Then you know how they… _twist_ things."

"I-I'm not sure what you mean."

He rested his hands on the table, she glanced to them before looking back to his eyes.

"They say I murdered all those people," he shook his head, "that's not true. How could I, after all? I'm only one man."

"You're saying, they tell lies about you?"

"Liesss…. Or their misguided truth."

She narrowed her brow, uncertain of what he was getting at.

"The madman with the clown face," he sneered, "he makes for an easy scapegoat."

"You're saying…"

"I'm saying," he ran his tongue over his bottom lip searching for the words, "the difference between a murderer and a vigilante is… only one wears a mask."

Harleen could hardly believe her ears. Of course he was talking about Batman. How Gotham's masked vigilante seemed to throw whatever morals he had out the window in recent years, and take murderous justice into his own hands. How many had he killed? Could the number meet the Joker's? Or, was it higher?

"That's a compelling argument... though, vigilantes don't usually target the innocent," she pointed out.

The Joker made a small laugh, his capped silver teeth glinted in the dull light.

"Innocent…" he laughed the word, "innocence doesn't exist. It's only in the past three hundred years humanity has developed a tender bleeding heart."

"So, you favor the idea that we're all natural born sinners, is that it?"

His lips pulled up on one side as he crossed his arms.

"I suppose I'm something of a Renaissance man…"

She was taken back by the casual nature of their conversation. And now, the revelation that the media possibly blames him for the crimes of others? In a way, it made sense. The Joker was a narcissist, perhaps he gloated in the notion that everyone thought he was pulling of the various crimes alone. What if… he wasn't as bad as they thought he was… what if…

"But getting back to the whole father thing," he said suddenly, sitting up in his chair, "I really didn't like mine very much."

She was shook from her thoughts and pressed her pen to paper.

"Is that so?"

"Mmm, he was a bit of a downer."

She nodded jotting down notes.

"And what do you mean by that…?"

"He… beat her," he spat, disgusted.

 _Her?_

"...My mother."

"Mother?" Harleen's heart raced. Sure, everyone knew his father was a sore subject. But mother? Had he ever uttered the word…?

"Do you remember anything," she encouraged, "any one time that sticks out in your memory?"

Inwardly, the Joker clapped for joy. He always enjoyed the early meetings. How they were always gullible enough to believe his every word.

"One time," he began, "it was late at night. I heard my mother crying out."

He looked away from Harleen, his mouth parting slightly.

She leaned in, noticing he had taken a softer tone.

"I opened my door, and walked to the end of the hallway, to their bedroom. I could hear the sound of skin hitting skin…"

Harleen became uncomfortable by the way he delighted in the words. Certainly not the way anyone of sane mind would recount such a memory.

"I opened the door a crack and saw her there, over his knee, _screeaming_."

Harleen noticed the small smile on his lips, the way his eyes lit at the thought.

"He raised his hand and brought it down hard, SMACK! And then she'd cry out for… for more?!" he laughed at the absurdity. "She enjoyed it!" He shook his head, "His large hand leaving a bright red mark on her pale, soft, flesh…"

He looked back to Harleen. He noticed how her mouth was hanging open and how her cheeks grew flush. He smiled and glanced lower to see her hand was unconsciously placed her over chest. Fingering a button on her blouse.

Harleen closed her mouth and looked down to her notes. Her heated skin tingled while her thighs tensed together. There was something unusually erotic about the way her spoke. How sensuality lingered in every word he spoke.

"Finally, he stopped, and she moaned in agony," The Joker continued breathily. "She pleaded with him, she even called him _daddy_ ," he reveled in a low voice. "... Daddy? Could you imagine that?" he laughed. "I guess she had fatherly issues, too."

Harleen brushed hair behind her ear. She wanted his story to be true, but she realized it was only a ruse of his. Something to get a rise from her. Well, damn him, it worked.

"Maybe, that's where I get it from," he added lightly. "My poor, saint-like, Mother... In that way, I'm a child of abuse."

Harleen looked back to him as he smiled innocently to her. She cleared her throat.

"You're um... you're lying to me, aren't you?"

He blinked, almost surprised. Almost.

"Why, Doctor Quinzel… are you questioning me?" he asked, feigning shock.

For a moment, she had practically forgotten who she sat across from. And how he was unbound.

"I- I'm sorry, Mister Joker," she immediately recoiled.

"J," he quickly corrected.

"J. It's only, I think you are fully aware of the nature of that situation…" she nervously laughed. "That's not abuse."

He starred to her, narrowing his brow.

"What I mean is," she went on, "what you just explained was clearly a sexual activity. And I think you are plainly aware of that."

He placed his arms on the table and leaned far over.

"Are you calling my mother a whore?" he questioned looking down to her.

She shook he head quickly, looking down.

"No, no, not at all, Mister J."

"No… I didn't think so."

He eyed her, with her nervous pink cheeks, and frightened wide eyes. He took in the long moment of her uneasiness like the sweet scent of a bouquet.

"Why is it you see something so brutal as intimate?"

She bashfully looked up to him. His lively eyes, only inches away from hers.

"Could it be,… that you get off to it?"

She narrowed her brow, her blood beginning to boil by his assumptions. In more ways than one.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked sharply.

"Go ahead," he whispered, hovering an inch closer to her. She became lost in his light eyes, and glanced lower to his red lips.

"Tell Daddy…"

Suddenly, an echo from that night she hardly remembered played in her mind;

" _Go on, do it for Daddy…"_

She jumped up, fear and adrenalin squeezing her heart as she reached for the landline.

"Hello… yes, come now," she spoke shakily into the phone.

Her eyes fixated on the Joker as he fell back in his chair and laughed to her.

She watched as the guards hurriedly entered the room and grabbed him roughly. She took a step closer once his hands were cuffed once more.

"Don't talk to me like that," she warned, quietly.

"Like what, dear?" he questioned sardonically.

"Shut it, clown," barked a guard in the Joker's ear.

"Yeah," added the other, "respect the lady."

Harleen eyed him sternly before glancing lower, down his lanky body.

"Like what you see?" asked the Joker, raising a brow before looking back to the guards, "I think I'll take this dish to go, Garson..."

She swiftly reached in his pocket and removed a toothbrush with a deliberately pointed end.

"Planning to have some fun?" she asked as he looked back to her, closing his mouth and smirking to the object in her hand.

The guard snatched the weapon from Harleen, muttering there would be harsh consequences.

Harleen could tell, though the Joker smiled coolly, he wasn't expecting that. For once, he had nothing to say.

The men dragged him from the room as Harleen watched on. The Joker never once breaking eye contact with her.

"Remember what we said about the news?" he questioned.

She was reluctant to answer, though she wasn't in the position just yet to give him the cold shoulder.

"Yes."

"Then watch it tonight…"

She crossed her arms as he disappeared from the room.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading! Don't forget to leave a review ;)


	9. green tea

A/N: The things I have to google for this story, I tell ya...

Thank you all so much for your continued reviews! Getting them actually makes my day. And thank you to the people who continue to follow and fav. Please tell me what you think while you're at it! Onward~

* * *

 _ix; green tea_

Harleen's mind wandered aimlessly as she sat alone on the subway.

She was used to men ogling her, or making forward advances. Yet, to have the Joker so plainly taunt her with flirtation, and blatantly question if she was aroused by such rude behavior, caught her off guard to say the least.

She was prepared to dismiss his insults, report his threats, and sift through his endless procession of lies.

She was ready for anything, anything that was, but this.

Harleen noticed the subway had begun to whisper. She glanced around to see concerned people sharing images on their smart phones. Each one shaking their head in confusion, but smiling at the scandal. She glanced down to her own phone, quickly opening a news app.

The Joker had told her to watch the news that night. Of course, she had racked her brain the rest of the day wondering why. It couldn't have been anything of his own doing, he'd been locked up for the past month. Still, he had men on the outside. And who knows, possibly men on the inside, downside, and upside.

Her eyes widened at the article that filled the screen of her phone.

 ** _Gotham mob boss found dead... a romantic message from the Joker… the decayed body said to be weeks old...  
_**

A hand instinctually covered her mouth as she turned her phone away.

She wasn't able to face the media again until she had made it back to her apartment. She reluctantly turned on the news.

After sitting through an endless teaser for the big story of the night, finally, the reporter turned her attention to the main headline.

"This evening, well known mob boss Sal Maroni, was found hanging from the North Bridge into Metropolis. Maroni was last seen having an altercation with The Joker at the now infamous Gin and Bare It mass killing…"

Harleen's mouth fell open as the image of a partially bare corpse swung by its neck over the river. As the camera zoomed in, words became clearly visible, carved into the body's chest.

Harleen quickly changed the channel, only to be met with practically the same image and the voice of an edgy news correspondent.

"What's interesting is the tone of this message," began the brash man. "It reads; _'With love, J.'_ Could it be a distraction, an omen, or, just a loving gift to Gotham city?"

Harleen's phone suddenly vibrated with a text, she jumped, accidentally throwing it from her hand.

"These foolish officers believe this is some sort of charity work by the Joker. Leaving a little love note to the citizens of Gotham. Does that sound like the clown to you? The Joker killed the biggest threat to his business to prove he doesn't care about rank. What's a God to a nonbeliever, after all?"

Harleen looked down to the text, her eyes searching the odd message.

"That's why I believe this note isn't for all the city. It's for one specific person. Be it an enemy or, maybe someone he just wants to pay him a little more attention…"

She shot up from her seat reading the message over and over again, in disbelief.

"And, whoever they are, God help them… if they're a believer, that is."

 _Are you watching? ;)_

Read the text from an unknown number.

* * *

Doctor Serano squinted down to the text, inwardly cursing him. _That fucking sonafabitch.  
_

"Are you suggesting the Joker sent this?"

Harleen nodded adamantly, her hair in a messy bun and darkened bags under her eyes. Serano was the only person she thought she could tell, it was torture waiting for her that morning outside her office.

"Who else? He told me to watch the news before he was dragged back to his cell."

"Harleen," Serano laughed, getting up from her office chair. "He's in confinement. Do you think he's allowed to have a cellphone?"

"Obviously not," she said, partially offended by her condescending tone, "but is he also allowed to have a toothbrush dagger? And what's with the lipstick? How'd he get that, huh?"

Serano glared to her. Harleen had too many questions.

"It would be wise of you not to question too much around here."

Harleen raised a brow, "I shouldn't question when a psychopath has my phone number? Well, what other personal information does he have on me?! Or, should I just wait until he escapes and shows up at my doorstep?"

"Quinzel," she scolded harshly, "get ahold of yourself!"

Harleen shut her mouth and stared to her. Serano leaned over her desk as Harleen looked up to her.

"Things happen when you're involved with him," she went on. "He plays with your mind, puts thoughts in your head. To act like the scared little girl is exactly what he wants."

"I guess… you know a thing or two about what he wants," Harleen pointed out. "When's the last time you talked to him?"

Serano crossed her arms, "I don't revisit past patients… why do you ask?"

Harleen stood to meet her gaze, "I know you control things around here. You tell those goons to jump and they ask how high?"

"What's your point?"

Harleen smirked, "You're too smart to play dumb."

"Oh honey," she laughed dryly, "you're too dumb to play smart."

Serano itched to fire her then and there. Yet, an image replayed in her mind. An incident that happened years ago. Her husband laying bloody on the ground, the Joker smiling over him, a purple handgun smoking in his clutch.

Firing Harleen would have been boring and easy. No quid pro quo. And Serano didn't waste time for free.

Harleen blinked to Serano's insult, her mouth still ajar as she glared to the icy Doctor.

"Excuse me?" she finally asked.

Serano walked back to her desk, uncaring.

"I have a meeting in ten. I don't have time for your fantasies."

Harleen breathily laughed, shaking her head in confusion.

"I can't believe you're dismissing me."

"Listen, this job comes with some baggage… do you see a therapist?"

Harleen narrowed her brow, "No...?"

"Have a good friend?"

"Yes…?"

"Talk to her about it."

* * *

Harleen couldn't remember a time a man got her a present she actually was surprised by. Sure, there was once in high school where her prom date got her corsage. She even slightly remembered her dad giving her a few presents over Hanukkah… the few he stuck around for, anyway.

Yet, never had a man given her a mob boss at the end of a noose. Though, she did appreciate the thought, the presentation left much to be desired.

The Joker casually took his seat across from her as she absently flipped through her notes, ignoring him for the moment.

He looked her over, noting her unwashed, messy hair, tired eyes, and the same blouse from earlier that week. All though, a new leopard print bar did peek through the sheer material...

She decided he had gotten the point of her indifference and nonchalantly looked up him. She was instantaneously met with the sight of his slightly battered face.

"What happened?" she gasped.

He looked away, a small saddened smirk tugging at his lips.

"You should see the other guys… actually, you probably just did," he glanced back to where the guards had just left.

"Is that what they meant by punishment?"

He shrugged, "Not the worst they've done."

"What else?"

He raised the sleeve of his shirt revealing a crooked, partially, healed cut.

Harleen felt a bit lightheaded at the sight. Odd, she thought, she only felt that way when people she cared for were injured.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly as he covered the injury. "If I had known, I never would have…" she stopped herself. What was she saying? She looked back to her notes and straightened her back.

"You want me to trust you with my secrets?" he asked with a small laugh. "You have a funny way of earning trust."

"So do you…" she reached for her pocket taking out her phone. After opening the text she received, she placed it in front of him.

He leaned over the table eyeing it.

"I don't remember giving you my number," she pointed out.

His eyes flickered up to hers, "How else are we supposed to keep in touch?"

She gawked to him and he laughed to her reaction.

"Pulling your leg, Doc. I didn't send that."

Her heart sank. For some reason, that notion was more terrifying.

She snatched her phone back before collapsing into her chair and running her hands through her hair in frustration.

"This doesn't make sense…" she muttered.

"You did watch the news though, didn't you?" he asked, a tinge of seriousness to his tone.

She looked back to him.

"Yes…" she answered warily.

He grinned broadly, "Good one, huh?"

"You have people talking again, even locked up in this place."

"Ahhh," he hissed, "the reviews are in. What do they say?"

"They think you killed him for the good of Gotham."

"What?" he cried pulling a disgusted grimace, "Gahh… should I buy a black cape and tights?"

She carefully suppressed a laugh. He must have noticed her small smirk, though. The Joker was always known for his humor, though not for particularly funny jokes.

"I guess they've missed a small plot hole," she continued, "you're here and Maroni was out there. How could you have done it?"

He scratched his chin as if deep in thought, "Say, you're onto something there…"

"All though, you knew it was coming. That's why you told me to watch."

"Huh," he feigned a gasp, "the plot thickens!"

"And then, there's the message on the body. Of course, you could have gotten someone else to relay that..."

"But…?"

"But you woulda had to have had communication with them."

"A regular Sherlock Holmes!"

She felt like she was being toyed with, grasping for answers he would probably take to his grave.

"Don't stop there," he leaned in, "I'm interested in what else you think."

"You killed Maroni that night at the Gin and Bare It, and you waited to use his body for the opportune moment."

He leaned back in his chair, thoroughly disappointed.

"I take back what I said about the Sherlock thing."

She blinked, "I'm… wrong?"

"Why don't you look back in your notes? I told you, _they_ twist the truth and blame the innocent."

"If you didn't kill him… why is your name one the body?"

He paused for a long moment.

"You know what the real shame is, in this age of technology? The loss of the love letter," he swiftly turned the subject.

She raised a brow, "The love letter?"

He frowned, shaking his head, "Could have written it in ink, but blood... that seemed far more appealing."

"The message on the corpse… is a meant to be a love letter?"

"I'm simply a man of old fashioned taste," he admitted, folding his hands in front of him.

"So you didn't kill him, but you wrote that… and what? Just happened to have his corpse lying around?"

"I acquired it, yes."

"And you did intend for it to be directed to… one person?"

"Hmm, you're back on the right track."

Harleen stopped. His eyes burned into her. She held her breath and decided to jump in.

"The message was for… the stripper Maroni was with. The one girl it is reported you let live…"

He shifted an inch closer to her.

"Do you think she got the message?"

Harleen was lost for words.

"I... don't know," she stammered.

He smirked leaning away from her.

She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and looked down to her notes.

"We're getting off track here," she quickly diverted. "We need to get on with this session."

"Of course," he said looking around the dingy room. "Hey… aren't I suppose to be laying on a couch, or something?"

"If that would make you more comfortable, I could request for one?"

He nodded thoughtfully.

"I have a bad back, you know. Long story… though it's a real knee slapper."

"Actually, I was hoping to continue with what you recalled before…" she paused, "about your mother."

He narrowed his brow.

"I know you only said that to- to shock me," she went on.

"Did it work, Doc?"

She eyed him, "No."

"Ah, so why was it you left in such a rush? Even took my good toothbrush…"

"I think you know why I left."

He shook his head, playing innocent with large eyes.

"It beats me…"

She bit her lower lip, thinking of how to out talk the act he was putting on.

"You're not stupid. Actually, if I'm going offa these papers. You're a genius."

He basked in her praise as she leaned over the table.

"So how is it, someone so smart, can't tell when he's making a girl uncomfortable?"

He leaned in to meet her stare.

"Oh no, I can tell. In fact, making people uncomfortable is a hobby of mine."

She frowned as he looked her over, his eyes falling down to her hands, before flickering up, meeting her gaze again.

"You were enjoying it…"

She laughed humorlessly, "Oh, was I?"

He peered to her through heavy eyelids, "Uh-hu."

"Care to tell me what else I was feeling?"

He grinned, "Guilt. Something I'll never understand… How people take the joy out of something they deeply desire, and call it a guilty pleasure."

She laughed wearily again, looking away from him.

"Pleasure and guilt," he shook his head, "they don't go together."

She gawked back to him, "I can assure you, there isn't a fragment of my DNA that finds pleasure in this."

He smiled, knowingly. She hated the way he could read her. She cursed herself for being apparently so transparent.

She needed to recover, and quickly.

"There is no need to bring my emotions into these sessions. This is for you, not me."

"Really?" he asked, "And… how does that make you feel?"

He knew her temper was growing short. He could smell the anger wafting off of her. She was as hot as a brand and growing taught as a pulled rubber band. How interesting it would be, to yank her, until she snapped in two…

He laughed to himself as she fumbled with her notes, seemingly ignoring his last comment.

"Come on, Doc. I'm only kidding around. I like you, ya know?"

His earnest tone was enough to win back her attention. She looked to him as he smiled to her fondly.

"You have to admit, though" he added, "that daddy thing, it woulda made for a _helluva_ essay."

She hid a smirk.

"Don't worry, I'm not interested in writing essays."

 _Well, a book wasn't an essay, right?_

She glanced over her notes when a thought struck her.

She knew bringing back the certain subject would only open a can of worms. Yet, she figured there wasn't a subject that he wouldn't find some way to deviate from.

"So, you heard my thoughts on your stunt with Maroni. Can I hear more of your own?"

She kept her eyes on her paper yet could feel his fixated on her.

"Why... did you send that message," she looked up to him, "to the girl?"

"You can't fault a guy for trying to be romantic, can ya?" his large eyes gleamed to her, with a charming innocence.

"I don't think many girls find the dead bodies of mob bosses to be... romantic."

He looked down to her hands, "I think this girl might."

Harleen mindlessly scribbled nonsense in her notes. Her heart was raced as her palms grew slippery. What was stopping her from asking him about that night? Or, telling him she was there? That she was that girl. She _knew_ he remembered her. What sort of twisted Cinderella story was this? One where prince charming waits with a Glock behind his back.

"But… I'll tell you, Doc," he went on, distantly. "She's not exactly a dime a dozen."

"Oh?"

He shook his head, studying her closely as she continued writing.

"Nah… she was something else."

"You did take a liking to her, then? As people hypothesized?"

"A liking? No, no, no," he dismissed, "this was nothing so... ordinary," he narrowed his brow, thinking back to that night. "Have you heard the story of Hades and Persephone?"

"It rings a bell…"

"The God of the underworld, and the beautiful, innocent, goddess of nature. He knew, with one look at her, he had to make her his." She stopped writing, and continued only listening. "He took her to the underworld, _rrravaged_ _her_ … but, when she changed her mind, it was too late. She had already tasted the fruit of the undead. And, to her dismay, she liked it…"

She reluctantly met his intense stare.

"It was sort of like that," he added.

She quickly looked away, shook by his reveal.

"The Greeks called it rape. Huh, what did they know?" he laughed.

"That's, um… interesting," she stuttered, her nerves in a busy jumble.

"Is something the matter, Doc?" he questioned coolly. "Not a fan of mythology?"

"No," she replied hastily, "it's only… _why?_ Why her? _"_

He sighed, examining his own hands, "Do these things ever make sense? The birds and the bees, Frank Sinatra, and all that rigmarole…"

She stared to him, mouth gaping open. Was he, the Joker, the psychotic killer, confiding in her… that he had romantic feelings? Was that even possible?

Harleen blinked, sitting up. An odd, unmistakable, tension had drawn between them. She wanted to dismiss it, for him to say something rude so she could hurry off again. Yet, he only stared to her hungrily, and rattled off romantic myths.

The Joker reveled in the sight of her squirming and growing an interesting shade of pink before him. And, he swore, he could smell the sweet scent of her yearning rising off of her, all for him. He wanted to feel her softness under his gloved hand. Wet, warm, red, red, blood rising to her skin as he left bruises and welts. She was too perfect. Too pretty. But how would she look, with a little dirt where blush should be?

So far, luring her into his trap had been as easy as pie. Like parking a van marked 'free candy' in front of a playground and waiting with open arms. And, all though he was thoroughly enjoying the foreplay, days were passing by. It was time to move things along.

 _Candy was dandy, but liquor was quicker, after all._

"Could… could you be honest with me and tell me, exactly what happened that night?" she carefully asked. He leaned over the table.

"What makes you so curious?" he wondered, "What does this have to do with prescribing me medication?"

"I- I only… I think I could understand you better, if you told me everything. And were honest with one another."

"I've already warned you once about that, about my _secrets_."

She nodded, "And I told you, I can keep them, and I want to know."

He grew quiet, but obliged.

"I didn't plan for Sal to be there, but that dog decided to emerge from his cage," he snickered at his next thought, "big mistake on his end."

"I had the whole place in the palm of my hand. Deals were being made. Business was up. The boys were having a good time. Little did they know…"

"And her?" Harleen questioned, "When did you meet her?"

"She stuck out like a sore thumb. Short, blonde, like a lost cheerleader in the slums."

Harleen frowned, not exactly the look she was trying to serve.

"Maybe that's why she caught my eye," he said scratching his chin, looking off to a corner of the room.

"I saw Sal and decided to have an impromptu business conference. Luckily, she was with him, she made for a good distraction. Though, unluckily for her, she had fallen victim to his lady killer drug of choice; Purple Passion."

"Purple Passion?" she asked.

He nodded smiling, "Does a number on a gal."

She cursed herself again for being dumb enough to take that drink…

"I couldn't just leave her with that dope! Besides, Frost liked blondes. I thought he'd appreciate her hallucinating diamonds in the sky as we continued with business."

 _Frost_ , she repeated in head, the name sounding familiar.

"That's when things got… interesting."

She looked to him uncertainly as he still stared off into space wide-eyed.

"Maroni pushed into the room, demanding to leave with girl, saying he had already paid for her."

"Paid?!" Harleen gasped, instantly repressing her rage. "I mean, I thought she was just a dancer."

He smirked to her, "Funny, she had the same reaction…"

Harleen snapped her mouth shut.

He continued, "To cut to the chase, I decided the joke had carried on for long enough… And I guess, you know how that turned out."

"So… you did kill Maroni? Or your men did," she pointed out, planning to catch him in a lie.

He shook his head, "No..."

"But, he did die that night?"

"Of course."

"And you know by who…"

"Oh, yes indeed."

"Then who? Who killed him?"

He smiled… but it wasn't his usual grin. It was menacing, with a wicked glint sparking in his eyes.

She felt a chill creep over her skin at the sight.

"Oh Doc, you should have seen her. Now, _that_ was guiltless pleasure…"

Harleen blinked horrified, her lips parting slightly as she looked to his ominous smile.

He didn't spare her…

He didn't kill her…

Because she was the one doing the killing.

Or, so he implied. It was enough to cause her to panic.

"I… I'm having trouble… believing…" she whispered, grasping for words with disbelief.

"You'd be surprised where heathens are lurking these days... Hidden in plain sight," he said casually, as if she wasn't on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Her heart raced as she suddenly felt as though she couldn't catch her breath.

Of course, she didn't believe she was capable of killing anyone. Though, the desire had crossed her mind more than once. Either way, she couldn't take another moment of his cryptic flirtation. A rash thought came to her mind, and though it pained her, it presented itself as the only plausible solution. The right thing to do.

"Loxitane," she said shutting her binder and quickly getting up. He watched her oddly as she gathered her things.

"Come again?"

"I'm prescribing you Loxitane," she said, desperately trying to control her emotions. She hurried past him, he raised a brow and turned to watch her leave.

"And," she added, looking back to him as she stood before the door, "this has been our last meeting. Thank you, Mister J."


	10. bloody mary

A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews! I am overwhelmed!

Grlvct, thank you! But I can't take credit for having Harley sleep with her professors for grades. It's in her original backstory comic. But yeah, it makes sense with her character and I always found the idea amusing. I think she is very smart but maybe more street smart than book smart. Well, she's smart enough to get what she wants!

Thank you all for staying interested, this semester/work has been a little crazy. Onward~

* * *

 _x; bloody mary_

Serano entered the Joker's cell as he sat organizing playing cards carefully on his bed.

His large eyes glanced up to meet her narrowed ones.

"Ahh," he smiled, "making a habit of these visits I see?"

"You would be so lucky," she said, crossing her arms at the foot of his bed.

"So… am I to believe there's some real reason for you cross such privacy boundaries?" he wonder aloud.

"Please, you have no rights while you're in here."

He raised his brow looking back to his cards, "Moody I see. I thought we buried that hatchet."

"Yeah, but luckily, I remember just where."

He laughed a bit at that.

"You writers. So poetic. And impressively good liars to boot!"

He glanced back up to her.

"I know I'm an appealing sorta guy… enigmatic, mysterious, sexually ambiguous…"

She resisted rolling her eyes.

"But," he went on, "I don't think you've come here just for my charm and good looks."

"Harleen," she stated, "she's onto us and asking a hell of a lot of damn questions."

He smirked, "That's my girl…"

"That was your girl, you mean," she said producing a yellow slip of paper. "She left her two week notice on my desk this evening."

He shook his head with a laugh, "Passionate kid. Acts first, thinks second. Once she comes to her senses, she'll be right back where she belongs."

"Where she belongs?" Serano questioned.

He nodded to her and she looked away in a strange state of shock and awe.

"So I get two broken femurs and she gets a new crush?" she asked dejectedly.

"Hey now Doc," he said getting up from the thin cot, "don't worry. You'll always have a special place in my heart…"

She looked back to him with disgust.

There was a time when she was foolish enough to wonder if he had feelings for her. It was an enthralling thought, the notion of the man who hated the world having a tender spot for only her. Of course, she soon realized there wasn't a humanistic strand in his DNA. He had no feelings. Any hint of romanticism was simply a ploy of his to get what he wanted.

"I was better learned than her," she fiercely pointed out, "I was the top of my class. I never thought of anything other than curing the clinically insane. Never took a day off. Never stopped improving my work."

He smiled and she felt sick knowing he was enjoying himself.

"My, my, so you _are_ jealous."

"No, J!" she spat, stepping closer to him, "Or whatever your real name is. Whatever nobody you are under that white skin, whatever worthless man you used to be... this game ends tonight."

He stared to her.

"My dear, Doctor… you know you were my first, right?" He asked breathily, causing her to grimace.

"Is that supposed to make me feel something?" she asked.

The Joker glared down to her.

"I know it does, otherwise, you wouldn't be standing here."

"I'm standing here to give you an ultimatum."

"Ooh," he said with interest, "please do share."

"If she comes back… _When_ she comes back, I'll kill her," she said coldly. "And it will only cost me the change at the bottom of my crocodile Hermes."

He smiled.

"Or, I'll leave it to your expertise. God knows you much be itching for a fresh victim."

He nodded, seeming to think the offer over.

"She's gotta big mouth and a hunger for fame. I can smell it on her," Serano continued. "It's either get rid of her, or wait for our secrets to be all over TMZ," she shook her head at the thought. "Could you imagine? The Joker's girlfriend and her corrupt boss. I'll lose my job, then who will pull the strings to get you out whenever you please?"

The Joker beamed to her, thoroughly pleased with his impact over the once promising psychiatrist.

After all these years of trying to break her. He never knew it could be so simple…

When they had their meetings, all those years ago, he wanted to ruin Serano, to prove anyone could be driven as mad his him. Yet, she was always too cautious. She'd look away from the truth. Harleen though, she tripped over it and fumbled around it. All while being her own unique blend of innocent and crooked.

While Serano needed to be pushed over the cliff, Harleen only required a wink and a smile, then she'd jump all by herself.

He had to admit, there was a funny attraction there, between her and him.

"You can't trust her," she warned sternly. "She has intentions."

The Joker wanted to laugh in her face, yet that would give the ruse away. And he was always one for a dramatic reveal.

"Here," he said, suddenly producing the deck of cards in his hand, "pick a card, any card."

She pulled one from the center and was slightly impressed when it had his writing on the back.

Her eyes ran over the message and she looked back to his pleased grin.

"Mind relaying the message? I'm sure you can use some of that change to find out where she lives…"

* * *

"Look! It says it right there," proclaimed Harleen, pointing to the screen of her laptop on a website google had revealed.

"Once ingested it only take moments before the person begins to experience hallucinations, an inability to discern fantasy from reality, AND cause momentary loss of memory."

Chic eyed Harleen as she sat on her friend's coach eating a slice of pizza.

"Yeah P Passion, I did that shit in middle school…"she said casually. Harleen gawked to her.

"That was what Maroni slipped me, J knew I was drugged!"

"J?" she asked.

Harleen looked away, "I mean the Joker."

Chic shook her head, "Can we have one night when you don't talk about him, hmm?"

"I'm sorry, I guess I'll talk about the other murdering mob boss who flirts with me on the job."

"I just don't think it can be healthy to constantly be bringin his ass up in conversation. What happened to that Leaf guy…?"

"Kale," Harleen corrected, "and I don't care about him anymore, or anyone," she said, trailing off, image searching the Joker. "They're all so… boring."

"Definitely not healthy," Chic responded, "you know how you ho out when you get on one of your dry spells."

"Hey!"

"I'm only watching out for you! Give Grass a booty call. Tell him you got some hummus or some shit."

Harleen sighed closing her laptop.

"Well, you won't have to worry about anything unhealthy anymore. I put in my two weeks."

"Mmm!" Chic exclaimed with a mouth full of pizza, nearly choking. "What?" she asked after a moment, "do you have a back up plan?"

She shrugged, "Back to dancing."

"And what about school? Did you drop out?"

"God Chic, I don't know. Besides, it's not official. I'm sure Serano will try to persuade me to stay."

"And why not just drop him like the sack of shit he is? Get someone else to phychia-tise?"

"These things don't work like that. And… I don't know… in a way, I feel like I'm too involved now."

Harleen was quiet for a moment. She had made the rash decision in the heat of the moment. She didn't see another way out of the situation. Before, it had been all winks and cheeky remarks. Now, there was a dead body and murder accusations.

"Well, for now, I'm free of that man."

Chic eyed her, "You mean til Monday?"

Harleen let the idea marinate for a moment. Only one troubling thought in her mind; _she wasn't sure what to do.  
_

"You ain't eating?" asked Chic worried.

Harleen looked to the pizza then back to her friend.

"I already ate."

"You just told me you didn't have time to take your break!"

"I'm just not hungry, Chic."

Chic narrowed her brow, "What the fuck?"

"What?! I'm fine! Ughhh!" she moaned grabbing a throw pillow and covering her face with it.

"Uh… hold the fuck up, bitch. What the actual shit is going on?" asked Chic, putting down her piece of pizza.

Harleen peeked behind the pillow.

"Chic… do you think I would ever… kill somebody?"

Chic cocked her head, "What?"

Harleen lowered the pillow.

"Do you think I would literally kill someone?"

"Define... _someone_."

"Sal Maroni?" suggested Harleen in an innocent tone.

Chic frowned, "Why…? What are you not telling me here?!"

"Listen, it's probably nothing. I mean, Serano said he'd put ideas in my head, try to drive me crazy…"

"Well what did he say, exactly?"

"He… _suggested_ … that the stripper, Harley Quinn, who made it out of The Grin and Bare It that night had, uh… might have possibly… had something to do with... killing Sal Maroni."

Chic's eyes widened, "Maroni?! The guy hanging from the bridge like a fuckin piñata?"

"Maroni the mob boss who drugged me," she shook her head, "The Joker said it was a love letter."

"To…?"

Harleen looked to Chic regretfully and she took the hint.

"Hold the _fuck_ up," she gasped. "Harls… are you saying… I mean - do you think he…?"

"Do I think?" she asked shooting up from the couch and looking down her friend, "Chic, it's all I do anymore. Think about what that man says to me. And I tried _everything_ to remember that night. Shit, I even meditated!"

"Calm down!" said Chic, "If you had something to do with it then, hey, you had a right to! He drugged you and he's on Gotham's most wanted! Shit, they should give you the key to the city."

"Ughh," Harleen groaned, beginning to pace, "wouldn't it bother you if you killed a man and couldn't remember?"

Chic shrugged, "Seems like the preferred circumstance to me."

She watched as Harleen pulled at her own hair and mumbled to herself. She frowned at the sight.

"Is there… something else he told you?"

Harleen looked to her. The thought of some Greek Devil pulling an innocent girl to hell crossed her mind.

"It's what he's not telling me. He won't even ask if I'm the girl he met that night. For some reason, he wants me to come out with it."

"Maybe if you do, he'll tell you the truth. Until then, he's playing with you."

"Obviously."

"Then why are you stressin? Look, grow a pair and confront him. It's not like anyone else can tell you what happened that night."

Harleen stopped pacing and looked to Chic. An idea sparking in her mind.

"Chic! I love you! You're a genius!" she exclaimed shutting the pizza box just as Chic was about to reach for seconds.

"What?" she cried watching as Harleen darted into her closet.

"There _is_ one person who can tell us!" she said, reaching behind winter coats.

Chic eyed as her she emerged, smiling giddily, a heavy wooden baseball bat swinging in her grasp.

"And it's that bitch with fake tits who ratted me out on national TV."

Chic furrowed her brow.

"Tell me," said Harleen throwing on her coat, "is she still at Ritz's?"

* * *

"I told you, I don't remember taking any fuckin bills from you," said a woman being followed out the back entrance of a grimy strip club by Chic.

"Well tough shit, Black Ivey. You owe me a quarter of a thousand!" yelled Chic as they made their way to a back alley. "You don't remember that night? With the rich prick from Metropolis? How we tagged teamed him and you snatched _my_ share of the bill?"

The tall, large chested, stripper pulled a lighter and cigarette from her purse as Chic made sure the exit door was shut.

"Yer fuckin crazy, Chiquita," laughed the woman, blowing smoke into the night air. "No wonder Tia fired ya ass afta one night!"

"Fired? Bitch, I quit this tacky ass joint!"

"Whatever" Black Ivey continued, "either we stay out here, tie up our hair like we back in the hood, or, you hurry back to that penguin motherfucker's ice box."

"Or," came Harleen's voice, "you could spare a few minutes…"

Black Ivey turned around to see Harleen glaring to her, the bat casually resting over her shoulder.

"Fuck no!" she exclaimed. "What da hell is this?" she asked looking back to Chic who only smirked.

"We saw ya on the news," said Harleen walking to Chic's side. "I guess every bitch needs her five minutes of fame…"

She sneered to Harleen, "You!" she said suddenly recognizing her, "– you fuckin crazy whore."

Harleen frowned, "I prefer cunt."

"I gotta get back to work…" she said about to turn away when Harleen turned and smacked the side of a tin trashcan with the bat. The stripped turned back to her, jumping at the loud crack.

"Not yet, bitch!" yelled Harleen to her, "Not til I get some answers!"

Chic looked to Harleen, a bit taken back by her intensity.

"What do you want to know?" questioned the stripper, bitterly complying.

"I wanna know everything you saw that night at the Gin- start to end."

Black Ivey frowned in disgust, "Sorta hard to see fuckin shit when you're hiding for your life."

Harleen took a step closer to her, raising her head meeting the Harleen's intimidating eye.

"Tell me and I won't brake yer ankles."

Black Ivey's braveness dissipated for a moment at the sight of the wild rage in Harleen's eyes.

"Yo Ivey! The fuck you at?!" called a man opening the exit door, Chic quickly took action.

"Big Mick? Is that you up there?" she asked, rushing over to the man with a friendly grin.

"Holy hell, Chiquita! Where you been, girl?" he asked as she giggled and lead him back to the club.

"Uh oh," sang Harleen, "missing out on that precious green. Better hurry up and spill the beans…"

"Fine…" she spat, "I'll tell yer psycho ass."

"Good… go on."

"I was dancing onstage when I saw him scope you out from the VIP lounge."

Harleen nodded, being able to recall following him to the lounge, after being taken away from Maroni and his men.

"After that, I was on the floor. The girls were all talkin shit, wondering how a skinny little girl like you caught the eye of the clown."

Harleen laughed dryly, "You fuckin bitches."

"I peeped you back there… _Fuck_ ," she laughed dryly, "you was dancing like a genuine freak…"

Harleen looked away, a blurry image coming to her. How she was laughing and twerking around the dark room, all for his attention, just for one glance…

"Even saw you throw your bra at that one man, the guy with the beard, one of _his_ henchmen…"

Harleen looked back to her.

"Did they look like they were havin as much fun as me?"

"How should I know what a buncha freaks look like when they're having a good time?"

Harleen frowned to her. She had a point.

"It wasn't long before Maroni got drunk," she continued, "decided to take back his little toy from the Joker."

Harleen was a bit surprised to hear how the stripper's story aligned with what the Joker had told her. Maybe… he wasn't playing with her mind after all.

"I was on the floor, collecting drinks when Maroni started yellin back there. Sayin how the Joker aint a _real_ man… you didn't like that very much."

"What?"

"You got mad at Maroni. Said the Joker was twice the man he was. Said how he didn't deserve you… Then, shit…"

 _"What?"_

"You said you were his now, property of the Joker," you got right in his face and shouted it. "And fuck me, did the clown look happy to hear that shit."

"Holy fuck," she said gawking to Black Ivey.

She furrowed her brow in confusion, "You got a real shitty memory, don't you?"

"Kinda hard to remember shit when you're drugged."

"Well… aint that just convenient."

Harleen looked to her, "It's true, do you think I woulda done any of that in my right mind?"

"I don't know you… miss _cunt_."

Harleen looked away, "Anything else you remember?"

She laughed, "You ain't heard the half of it."

"What then?"

She smiled, "I watched as the Joker stepped between the two of you. He seemed to be making some sorta deal with the guy. I'm not sure. You watched on, laughing and clapping your hands together like a little girl.

And then, the Joker looked to you, just when I thought he was about to pop your annoying ass in the jaw, he reached in his coat and pulled out a purple handgun. You looked like he was offerin you a diamond ring…"

Harleen shook her head, "I didn't take it did I…?"

"You took it so fast I hardly had time to process what happened next."

"What happened?"

She laughed in disbelief, "What shit was you on, again?"

"What. Happened." Harleen demanded.

"The Joker stepped away, and you shot Maroni, in cold damn blood."

Harleen felt faint, she gripped the bat tighter in her grasp.

"Have you ever heard that man laugh?" asked Black Ivey, "makes nail on a chalkboard sound like Beethoven."

"What happened next?" asked Harleen impatiently.

The woman laughed, "Shit hit the god damn fan. The Joker started shooting suits. It was every man for himself."

"What did I do?!"

"Bitch, do you think I was lookin at you?! I ducked and covered… It wasn't until the smok cleared and the last shot was fired that I saw…"

"What? What did you see?!"

She smirked, "Shit… do I have to spell it out for you?"

"Tell me!" she ordered, raising the bat behind her head, causing Black Ivey to step back an inch.

"You were all over him!" she yelled. "Your hands in his hair, laughing your fuckin ass off like you were old friends."

"You didn't tell the news that…"

"Yeah, cause I thought your psycho ass would come for me. I wish I told them everything!"

"Well tell me then, Ivey. Because I'm dying to hear more."

"You kissed him!" she spat, causing Harleen to practically drop her bat. "He span you in his arms and you kissed him like you were in love," she laughed, partially disgusted. "And you know? He kissed you back."

Harleen lowered the bat, her expression growing soft before she narrowed her brow and raised the bat higher.

"You're lying!"

"The fuck I am! Face the truth, bitch. You a clown's sidepiece. And, you're just as fucked up as him," she shook her head, "maybe even more…"

"Harleen!" cried Chic, reemerging from the club. She grew concerned seeing her friend about to bust the side of the girl's head.

Harleen growled, throwing her bat to the ground and jumping onto the woman.

"Oh hell no," said Chic running down the stairs as the pair wrestled on the ground.

Chic quickly pulled Harleen off of her, taking a fistful of Black Ivey's hair with her.

Black Ivey staggered to her feet, holding her wig on her head.

"Get out of here!" yelled Chic.

"If that... BITCH comes back I'll get my boys to-"

"Get the FUCK out!" repeated Chic, still holding back her friend.

Once the girl was a safe distance away, she let go of Harleen who immediately reached for her bat.

"Woah there!" said Chic grabbing her arm.

Harleen groaned in frustration, "I was only trying to scare her... why'd you stop me?"

"Because we don't need her hanging from some bridge too!"

Harleen shut her mouth, taking a breath and regaining control of her burning anger.

"Gah, what has he done to me?!" she cried, turning away. "I'm not a murderer! I wouldn't kill someone… unless they're a fucking lying CUNT!" she yelled in the direction of Black Ivey who only flicked her off before entering back into the club.

"I know," Chic assured her gently. "But for now, I think you should give the bat to me."

Harleen turned away, hiding her face as tears stung her eyes. She knew, in her heart, something was changing inside her. Something snapped that night, the night she met him.

"Hey," said Chic placing a hand on her shoulder, "let's go back to my place. Okay?"

* * *

Harleen and Chic entered her apartment in the mid-afternoon the next day.

"Hold on," said Harleen looking over her living room, "I swear my wallets around here somewhere…"

"Yeah, yeah," said Chic walking past her open bedroom door, "you better cancel that credit card before someone round here decides to upgrade their cable… And, do you really not lock your door?"

Harleen shrugged, "Musta forgot…"

Chic shook her head, glancing into her bedroom. She narrowed her brow, smiling back to Harleen.

"Look at you, going on last night like you didn't have any guys lined up after that clown…"

"I told you," began Harleen confused, flipping over sofa cushions. "Kale could not be further from my mind… Why?"

"C'mon, Harls. Don't try to act like there isn't a rose next your bed."

Harleen looked back to Chic.

"Huh?"

Chic raised a brow before laughing and gesturing to her bedroom.

"The rose in the vase next to your bed. Or what? You haven't been on goddamn etsy lately, have you?"

Harleen walked by Chic into her bedroom. There, on her nightstand was a single rose and a playing card attached to the stem. She covered her mouth at the sight.

"I did lock the door…" she gasped.

"What?" asked Chic walking to her side, "Who's it from?"

Harleen took the card and turned it over, reading it aloud.

"Don't stop now, baby… J."


	11. absinthe

Don't stop now baby! Sorry for the sporadic updates but this semester is more than I can handle atm. But thanks so much for the constant support and reviews! I read them all to get inspired to post again! And thank to Victoria & Purrcilla who found me on youtube and reminded me to write again. You're awesome! I'm really working against the clock now to get most of my ideas up before the extended cut is released. I still might just stick to my own headcanons for those deleted scenes no matter what tho…

Onward~

* * *

 _xi ; absinthe_

Harleen always thought bravery was a word preserved for people who were about to die. Maybe a firefighter running into a burning fire or a child facing some incurable disease.

Bravery was not a word for a girl who visited death like an old friend and greeted danger with a smirk each morning.

Yet, it seemed to take a great deal of courage for her to return to the Asylum that Monday.

And once she saw it looming over her like a gothic cathedral, she felt a great weight upon her shoulders.

The time to move on and forget the Joker had come and past. Dead mobsters and mysterious roses aside, the man had invaded her every thought, her house, and her dreams. Yet, he no longer had the upper hand. She knew what had happened the night they met, even if she didn't comprehend why, or understand her own actions. She knew something that, for once, he did not. She knew her own story, and he was no longer the narrator.

What did she plan to say to him? Where did she think their meeting would go? She couldn't have been completely positive. All she knew was something was about to end. Or, something far more exciting was about to begin.

She sauntered through the halls as almost every head turned to her. Her long wavy locks were down, as she clicked by in 6 inch heels much less office formal attire. She would meet him as Harleen today instead of some imaginary Doctor.

But first, a possibly more terrifying meeting had to occur, her explanation to Doctor Serano.

The Doctor sat in her office typing up emails. Harleen didn't bother on knocking before strutting into her in vogue office space.

Serano glanced up to her and had to do a double take. Harleen only smirked.

"I'm back," she said smoothly, waiting for her entrance applause.

Serano narrowed her brow to her.

"You're too late," she said, looking back to her computer screen.

Harleen made a small laugh in confusion.

"What? You found someone else? Over the weekend?"

"No," she retorted annoyed, "You're too late to meet with him today."

Harleen blinked, "I don't understand?"

Doctor Serano looked back to her. She wanted to laugh in her face. If she was wishing to catch that man's attention she would need more than Forever 21 apparel.

"He's not in his cell. He's not in the therapy wing. He's in a different part of Arkham altogether."

Harleen didn't understand. "Well, where else could he be? Did you all invent something worse than solitary confinement while I was gone?"

"Not while you were gone, no."

"Then where is he?"

"It's confidential," she quickly answered.

"I'm his Doctor!" Harleen laughed.

"A Doctor without a diploma!" she spat, silencing her. "A Doctor who gave me her two week notice…"

Harleen sighed, recoiling her crusade a bit embarrassed. "That was a mistake," she lamented.

"Mistakes cost you _dearly_ around here," Serano warned.

Harleen could only stare to her, wondering what she meant by that.

Serano continued nonchalantly.

"Now, why don't you go back to where ever you came from? By the looks of it, perhaps the street corner outside Wendy's…?"

"Maybe I will!" snapped Harleen, "But first, tell me where my patient is. If only for the sake of our meeting on Tuesday," she said, hoping reasoning would soften the Doctor's iron grasp.

Serano groaned exasperated before reluctantly standing up.

"I didn't want it to come to this, Harleen."

"Come to what?" she asked watching curiously as the Doctor reached under her desk, pulling open a draw.

"Oh life, and all its complete unfairness."

Harleen searched the Doctor's dark eyes, suddenly feeling her life being threatened. She looked to Serano's hand, still concealed in the under the desk and seeming be toying with something.

"I'll be gone from your sight as soon as you tell me," said Harleen, trying to divert her attention. "Just tell me, I won't even go looking!"

Serano frowned, firming her hold the concealed object.

And then, Harleen heard a familiar clicking sound. Suddenly, memories from the night at the club filled her vision. The alerting noise of a pistol being cocked, just before the thunderous release of the bullet.

 _Crazy bitch,_ thought Harleen. _She was just as psycho as him…_

"This is your last chance to start over," said Serano with a final warning, "go home, and leave Gotham."

Harleen looked to her, the thought was enough to break her heart.

"I can't go home. There's no place I can go! Nowhere to escape him. You must _know_ …"

"Don't you _dare!"_ she hissed, momentarily losing her cool exterior, "Don't you ever assume our lives are comparable."

Harleen looked to her wide-eyed. Serano smirked at her uneasiness as her finger teased the trigger of the gun she hid.

"Security will be in here momentarily to escort you out."

Harleen opened her mouth to protest but Serano stopped her.

"Don't worry," she said sitting back down, "you're not fired. I'm not done with you yet..."

Harleen narrowed her brow at her last words.

Before she had a moment to react, security entered the room. Harleen looked to them as they stared to her in confusion.

"What's the problem?" one asked looking to Serano who had glanced back to her computer screen.

"Doctor Quinzel isn't feeling well. She's had quite the shock. She'll need someone to escort her off property."

Harleen staggered back as her eyes remained on Serano.

"What are you hiding?" she asked quietly as Serano's eyes snapped back to hers. "You and the Joker…?"

"Now, now, Harleen. You need to go home and rest. This days has been a bit too much for you," said the Doctor, in an ominous tone.

"No!" she cried as she felt the men's hands on her. "She's keeping my patient from me, I promise I am fully capable of handling myself!"

"It's okay, Doctor Quinzel," said one guard escorting her toward the door, "the job gets to the best of us."

Harleen looked wildly between them and the Doctor who sat emotionlessly at her desk.

"See you tomorrow," Serano added just as she was pulled away from the office.

Suddenly, Harleen knew how it felt to be a patient. To have your sanity questioned and neglected. To have your freedom snatched away by the fat hands of guards.

They quickly walked her down various hallways that twisted through the labyrinths of the asylum.

Harleen looked numbly to the passing doors and windows they passed. Each one, possibly holding him. _Him_. Where was he? Why did she fear for his wellbeing? What was the cost a deranged doctor was willing to make?

One guard stopped at the security office as the other held her by the arm. They stood alone in the hallway waiting to be cleared to exit.

She looked up to him as he leaned next to her. She realized she recognized him as the man usually assigned to helping her with the Joker.

"Can you believe it, Grim?" she asked. "Where they have that clown locked away today?"

The man glanced to her before looking back down the hallway and smirking.

"Fifth times the charm, I guess."

She laughed, "Fifth? That many, huh?"

"Oh yeah. The freak doesn't learn. Afterword he might seem different. Maybe you can get one or two sane sentences out of the guy. But, within a few hours. He's back."

"And they keep trying? Isn't it waste of time?"

"Nah. I think they like watching him suffer for a change."

"Suffer?" she asked, her heart suddenly feeling heavy.

"Yeah," he laughed boorishly, "I heard they up the voltage every time too. Soon, his brain'll be as fried as a turkey in November."

Harleen looked away. Voltage. He was in electroshock therapy… what wing was that again? She closed her eyes imaging the map of the building.

"Everything okay, Doc?" asked the man looking down to her.

She smiled, raising a hand to her forehead and feigning lightheaded-ness.

"Oh, sure… I just feel… Kinda dizzy." She leaned against the man, making sure her cleavage pressed against his beer gut.

"Woah there," he chuckled, an arm slinking around her waist. "Don't worry, I got ya."

She smiled up to him and giggled, "My hero!"

He smirked down to her, careful to enjoy the sight of her body in his arms.

"Hey, uh, if you need someone to escort you home I could tell em I gotta pick up my daughter early fr-"

With that, Harleen grabbed his shoulders, and used his body as leverage to knee him in the lower stomach.

He instantly fell to ground, gasping in pain.

In the next moment, she ran off, hopefully in the direction of the proper wing.

All though, she didn't get to the end of hallway before having to stop to take off her heels. She glanced back to see the security guard radioing for backup.

"That crazy fucking bitch is loose…" he moaned before she smiled and dashed off, continuing her search.

* * *

She made her way across the asylum, passing attendants and inmates who stared to her as she jauntily walked by, her shoes in hand.

Finally, she seemed to enter the more hospice like therapy section of Arkham. A group of doctors emerged chatting from a room and she quickly rushed them.

"Excuse me, I'm Patient 0's Psychiatrist."

There was an awkward pause as they looked to her to oddly.

She cleared her throat and tried to hide the fact that she was out of breath, "I'd like to see him, if he's up to it, or not, either way. Where is he?"

One of the men decided to interact with the wild looking woman, "F 221. I get the curiosity. Like watching a car wreck."

"More like watching your team win the super bowl," injected another man to get a laugh from the others.

Harleen politely giggled along with the group, though she inwardly cursed them up and down.

"Take your time. He's not going anywhere," assured the man before they passed her.

Harleen watched as they walked away, laughing and joking as if leaving a bar. Suddenly, she became aware of what she was about to do.

Maybe it was the thrill of having a gun pointed to her head that drove her back to him. Just as pointing a gun to another man thrilled her the night they met.

She turned and began to look for the room number, wondering all the while if she could actually commit to meeting with him in such circumstances.

She also wondered if, little by little, and day by day, she was somehow being persuaded by him. She thought, what else could he persuade her to do?

She stopped outside the door.

Could he persuade her to feel something for man who shouldn't be able to feel anything at all?

Those eyes…

And that charming tongue…

They could persuade the holy to sin, and the sinful to repent.

She scanned her thumbprint and the door creaked open.

There, in a small orderly room, was the Joker unconscious in bed. His forearms and legs bound with his eyes closed and mind at ease. He looked peaceful. He looked harmless. He looked dead.

His head turned to face her. His soft lips turned down in slight frown. His emerald hair fell over his forehead and seemed to have a slight wave to it.

Her lips parted as she shut the door and slowly walked over to him.

And then, she noticed the oddest thing. Natural light shone through a window and seemed to fill everywhere except for the shadow that concealed the man.

She blinked in the light and gazed to him in curiosity.

She pondered how many had gotten to see the rogue in such a state of serenity. So vulnerable and alone.

She reached out to touch his skin, perhaps brush against his arm, just to feel that odd white flesh. Yet, just when she was an inch away, he jolted to alertness.

She jumped back as his eyes hazily looked up to meet hers. And suddenly, he seemed to calm himself, and exhale in relief.

"You…" he said quietly.

She made a small smile.

"It's me," she assured him quietly.

He smiled back, his eyelids heavy as his head rested against the pillow.

"Doc," he breathed, "how did I know you would turn up in my dreams…?"

Her mouth fell open. His speech as so casual. And his tone wasn't gravely and showy, but ordinary.

He was just normal, like someone had flipped a switch on a washer machine.

"You're not dreaming, Mister J. You've been through a horrible procedure. Something I had nothing to do with."

He smiled and chuckled to himself, his hand reached out for her, as far as the constraints would allow. He lightly brushed a finger along her arm.

She held her breath as he looked up to her again.

"Harley Quinn."

She smiled. The name coming from his lips sent her heart in wheeling. Not even Purple Passion could inspire such ecstasy.

"I'm sure all your friends call you that…" he concluded.

She shook her head, "They don't. But I don't really have _friends_."

"Well Harley," he said looking to her arm as his finger lazily lingered across her flesh, "you have one now."

She giddily laughed at the sensation. Their first physical interaction.

"I don't think you and me are going to be friends," she said with a wicked smirk.

He laughed breathily, "Then maybe we'll be enemies… maybe I'll kill you… then mourn for the rest of my life…"

She watched as his eyes closed and his voice became quieter as he turned away from her.

She stepped closer to him and leaned over the bed.

"Mister J?"

He turned back to her, observing her face in awe.

As she gazed back to him, she felt as though she was looking at a man she had never met. Yet, someone who knew her and her every last secret.

"You won't leave again, will you?" he asked, suddenly, painfully.

She blinked, mesmerized by his blue eyes.

"I… I won't."

"Good," he said, his eyes flickering down to her lips as his tongue ran tantalizingly over his own.

"Can I… ask you something, now?" she asked.

 _"Anythhhing."_

"Do you remember me… from the night at the Gin and Bare It?"

"Oh _doll_ ," he laughed lowly, a hint of his usual voice echoed in his words. "How could I forget… the night we met?"

She smiled tom him so large, her face ached.

And then, feeling that strangely forbidden sense of bravery, she reached into the shadows and took his hand in hers.

Their hands mingled together as she carefully lowered her head closer to his.

And, when her only thought was focused on the possibly of his lips meeting hers, there was a violent string of knocks at the door.

"QUINZEL!" called the guard. "SECURITY! OPEN THE DOOR!"


	12. merlot

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews! Gahh they really put a smile on my face! And haha, yes Guest, I did make a small nod to the Wolf of Wallstreet with that quote! I just thought it was a cute Joker/Harley appropriate line. Anyways, your compliments inspire me endlessly and I just want to say thank you thank you thank you! I am so lucky to have readers like all of you! I'm trying my hardest to write as much as I can before the DVD release. There's so much new Harley and Joker footage coming! So exciting! Onward~

* * *

 _xii ; merlot_

Electroshock therapy has a multitude of effects on the mind. Once electricity is sent coursing through the brain's malleable tissue the owner of said brain's world is usually altered temporally and sometimes permanently. It can cure or it can create false hope. Sometimes, it simply leaves the patient in the middle of the ocean with nothing but an oar.

Of course, Harleen had only studied the usual cases where the therapy was concerned. People who heard voices in their head or perhaps possess one too many personalities…

But they were looney tunes compared to the Joker. The man who was cool and collected. The man who seemed to have a rolodex of talents. An endless list of people who jumped to his command.

So, how would the treatment effect a person whose mind is already as electrically charged as a bolt of lightning? She wasn't sure. She also wasn't sure what to make of his hazy, romantic, words.

Did she see into his true being? Get a glimpse of the man who lived once before the toxic waste? And did that fragment of a sane man inside the crazed gangster, actually have genuine feelings for her?

It was enough to drive her over the edge. An edge that she had so carefully been balancing on for weeks now.

She couldn't sleep and she barley had an appetite. He had borrowed into her mind and was refusing to pay rent. No matter where she went, or what she did, he was just a thought away. She fantasized about how it would be, to be taken by him in that small dingy therapy room. What would it be like to give herself over to a man so dangerous? Possibly something akin to playing Russian roulette. Would it be worth it?

Consciences didn't enter her mind. Never had she been so helplessly attracted to a man. _A man…_ as if he were just another horny professor or fuckboy at a mixer. He wasn't a man. He wasn't even human. He was something else entirely. He was a bottle of merlot in the middle of a desert that she had wantonly drank. Or, he was a dessert. Something decadent. A four-hundred dollar sundae with a golden spoon.

 _Hmm. Dessert…_

Harleen opened her practically bare fridge.

Of course, the only dessert she ever allowed herself to indulge in was sugar free pudding. She allowed herself one of the cellophane cups and settled for a plastic spoon. She took the snack to go as she was running late to catch the 10:00 am train.

To her, the Joker was an embodiment of sinful urges that even the most promiscuous would shy away from. She wanted him to want her and delighted in the thought of him thinking of her. She wrote diary entries filled with her erotic thoughts, even erotic circumstances that had yet to happen. A little dramatization wouldn't hurt sales. After all, sex would sell sell sell. But sex with the Joker? That was a new type of fantasy, an unexplored genre, the ultimate kink.

Now, it only needed to happen in reality…

At first, she planned for her book to outsell Serano, but now, she figured it would outsell the bible. Bill had Monica, Clyde had Bonnie, and now the Clown Prince of Crime would have his Harley.

 _Harley. Harley Quinn._

That name rang in her ears and echoed in subconscious. It sounded like shouts of revolution, like a sister she had never met, like a prophecy yearning to be told.

And yet, another part of her didn't want anyone to know. They weren't apart of their confined world that occupied the gothic underbelly of Arkham. A world with no rules and no morals. A sort of realm where she could live without her nagging conscious.

She took a spoon full of the pudding into her mouth.

He was the end of her life. And she knew it over and over again. He was going to kill her, and she would enjoy every moment of it.

Was it so odd that she would willingly take death, if he gave it to her with a kiss from his devilish tongue?

She entered the dim therapy room to see a small couch had been placed against the wall. She smirked, glad to see her request was approved. Ever since her "mental breakdown" and "misunderstanding" with Grim, people stared and whispered, and she got exactly what she wanted.

After an unusually long wait, the Joker made his entrance, along with two guards who were careful not to make eye contact with Harleen.

Harleen smiled to them, but her jovial expression altered when she looked to the Joker. He looked uninterested as he gave the guards the side-eye.

She pulled a chair alongside the couch as the Joker was escorted over.

He casually took a seat as Harleen smiled to the guards who hastily made their exit.

"Nice to have someone listen for a change around here," she laughed taking a seat and hoping to start a conversation.

The Joker crossed his arms and listlessly gazed to the ground. She decided to carry on with small talk.

"I know it's probably not the most comfortable, it can't be any worse than whatever they make you sleep on…"

He turned his head from her, unaffected by her eager words.

She cleared her throat and took her notes. Never had he been so unresponsive, something was certainly wrong.

"Are you… feeling yourself today?"

He stared off as her voice echoed distortedly in his ear.

 _Maybe later… if you give me something to be inspired by,_ he chided inwardly.

"Not in the mood to talk, then?"

He didn't look to her and she grew annoyed.

How could he dismiss her after everything he had said just one day ago? What did they have him on? Nothing she had prescribed.

She shut her binder, "Then why should I waste my time, huh?" she bitterly spat.

He finally looked to her as if he had just realized she was in the room.

"I'm sorry what they did to you. I couldn't help it. And believe me, I'd give em a piece of my mind if it wouldn't cost me my job."

He gazed to her through half lidded eyes, trying to determine if she was really there or merely a side effect of the anesthetic.

Either way, he might as well humor her.

"Have you ever had your grey matter turned?" he finally spoke up. "Chewed up and spat back out? Stretched like laffy taffy?"

She blinked, relieved he had still had a voice, though it was his usual gravely toned one.

"No, I can't imagine how horrible it is…" She said, regaining an air of propriety.

"Horrible?" he laughed, "No, Doc. It's like a shiatsu massage for your noggin."

His head fell back onto the coach as he blissfully smiled.

"You should really try it sometime."

"Didn't it… hurt?"

"Pain is pleasure… and pleasure is pain…" he mumbled. She was reminded of the conversation he had with Sal all those weeks ago.

"Do you remember anything from your recovery?" she questioned, hoping to jog his memory.

He smirked, "I remember… don't worry… how could I ever forget?" he hummed the words and she looked to him oddly. "The first time… the last time… we ever met."

He sniggered and she bit her lip, quickly jotting a note to cease his doses of pain killers.

After a moment of laughing at his own anesthetic inspired Phil Collins jokes, he looked to her hazily.

"I was a kid when I first heard that song… really brings ya back, doesn't it?" he looked to her as she only stared back to him. "Oh, that's right. I forgot. You're only a kid yourself."

He sighed, and she decided to use the moment to her advantage.

"What does it remind you of, exactly?"

"Oh, simpler times. No cares. No troubles," he frowned, "also… a cat."

"A cat?" she asked and laughed.

"Yeah… a grey tabby. God I loved that cat…"

 _Or, I skinned that cat... one or the other…_

"A childhood pet?" she asked and he nodded.

"We had some good times."

She smirked, "Always thought you'd be more of a dog person."

He shook his head, "Dogs are too simple. A cat's loyalty is earned. And even then, they'll probably still try to scratch you…"

She smile as he aimlessly stared to her.

His mind began to wander again, as well as his eyes.

She noticed as they fell down her form, admiring her legs. The way she was sat, with her ankles crossed, allowed for a captivating peek up the tight fabric that clung around her thighs and stopped just above the knee.

It made him smirk. Of course, women mystified him as most of secular society did. But women were particularly befuddling.

How they were always so keen to please daddy and settle down with a good old boy who drank beer and rooted for men in jerseys at the local bar. Maybe a man in uniform. Maybe still, a school teacher. He might tell a few jokes, just enough to reassure her he's one thought away from being brain dead. Those were the type of men women were supposed to want. Any yet, it was hardly the kind they lusted after. After all, show any virginal Janet a Doctor Frankenfurter and she'll have her legs spread in minutes. Of course, that dark primal urge is repressed by the woman. A woman who ignore whistles on the street. A woman who scoffs at the leers of the perverse patriarchy. Even though, it is instinctual, deep in the suppressed strands of their DNA, to want and need sex as much the man. All though, such urges are deemed unladylike. So, perhaps it was not the woman herself that made that him scratch his head, but the idea of what they were meant to be.

So, coming across a woman that made no sense to society; a woman who flaunted her body and succumbed willingly to any man she so desired, made perfect sense to the Joker.

And then there was Harleen whom he looked to with great curiosity. Her skirts were short, but just long enough. She walked the line, but was sure to trail off when no one was looking.

If a person longed to do something then why resist the urge? Because of a rule society made up before the invention of the wheel? It all made him want to laugh.

 _And people thought I was insane…_

Harleen carefully crossed her legs as he blinked, looking back up to her eyes.

"What was the cat's name?" she asked.

The Joker smiled as he stretched out his long legs and put his hands behind his head, reveling in a contrived memory.

"Groucho," he said wistfully.

She smiled looking at him as he casually crossed his ankles.

"Must have been some cat for you to remember him, even after what happened to you…"

"Gone but not forgotten," he mused glancing before cocking his head to the side. "Say Doc, you ask an awful lot of questions about me. It doesn't make your boyfriend jealous, does it?"

She laughed breathlessly, taken back by his comment.

"J," she started, blushing down to her binder, "I'm your doctor. It's my job to ask questions."

"Huh," he said looking back to her knee, "but… doesn't your boyfriend get bothered by it? All this time alone with a handsome stranger? I tell ya, it would drive me crazy…"

"And why is that?" she questioned coyly.

"Because I know what men think when they see a girl like you," he said, his eye flickering up to meet hers.

Her smile altered, "What is that?" she whispered.

A tongue ran over his lips as his gaze fell lower.

 _Blood dripping from the tip of a dagger… Rose petals… the smell of gunpowder…_

She felt a thick tension grow as a practically painful jolt of ecstasy rushed through her veins. The way his eyes ran over her legs and intensely studied where her skirt ended, she swore, she felt as though his hands had already helped themselves to her form.

"I don't think I could tell you and still be a gentlemen…" he purred. "It'll ruin my reputation."

She felt herself smile, though she wanted to appear unaffected by his words.

"Why don't you tell my anyway? I promise, I won't get Vicky Vale on the phone."

He laughed under his breath and shook his head, "Look at us, Doc. Chatting away like a couple of teenagers alone in a parked car."

She glanced down to her notes with a blush, "you started it."

He looked to her soft pink face, _Harley Quinn…_

He had a vision of her cartwheeling in a nightclub, then leaning over his hospital bed in pure white, something not far from the Virgin Mary.

 _Harley Quinn._

Was she real?

He narrowed his brow to her. Was anything real, after all?

"Harley Quinn," he spoke, causing her to look to him, he heart dropping to the pit of her stomach.

He still smirked, looking to her shocked façade in delight.

"I like the name... sort of sounds like Harlequin."

She furrowed her brow, "Isn't that a type of dog?"

He laughed, a low grumble that made her uneasy.

"No, no, silly. It's a clown."

She frowned as he continued to laugh.

"A clown?"

He smiled to her confusion before throwing his head back and laughing louder.

Though, it wasn't his usual casual giggle, it was maddening as it seemed to be as broken and desperate as a cry.

"Harley, Harley, Harley. Now I remember..."

She eyed him inquisitively, though part of her wanted to look away. Every time that name left his lips, she felt an odd flutter in her stomach.

"Remember?" she asked, "Remember what, Mister J?"

With that, he shot up from the couch. In the blink of an eye, he was leaning over her, pushing behind the back of her chair causing it to sway back. She jolted forward but he had her captured and cornered.

She gasped and looked up to him wide-eyed.

He was like an animal, still and relaxed one moment, and in the next, focused and squaring in on its prey.

The Joker smirked wickedly to Harleen, as if unaware that she was frightened for her life.

His emerald hair fell over his right eye as he looked to her with a crazed expression. She could only blink to him and try to process what had just happened.

Her mind ran in circles. What sort of drugs had they given him? What were their side effects? Did he have the time to whittle another toothbrush dagger?

She found it impossible to think straight, or even think at all, as the man leered over her. She wondered if he were about to kill her. It would be all too easy for him, after all.

But no, he only studied her cold grey-blue eyes as she studied his back.

He remembered, all right. And, all though recalling wasn't a primary hobby of the Joker's, he did spare room in his mind for certain memories. One, when someone crossed him, and two, when someone helped him.

And suddenly, being so close to her, brought back a memory for both occasions…

* * *

"Are you the devil?" Harleen whispered as the Joker pressed against her that night at the Gin and Bare It.

He grinned, pleased by her flattery, "Perhaps," he murmured to her as she swayed to the jazz music. "Say kid, have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?"

She giddily laughed to him as he grabbed her waist and spun her around the VIP lounge.

"No! But I think he grinded on me once…"

"J!" called a man standing up from the sofa he had been holding meetings at in the separate room.

The Joker glanced to the man uninterestedly.

"I'm tired of your boy here giving me the run around," said the angered client, gesturing to Johnny Frost who sat across from him. "Now, are we gonna talk or what?"

Harleen whined as the Joker pulled away from her.

"Now, now," he whispered back to her, "this shouldn't take long, doll."

Admittedly, The Joker had at first found the blonde annoying. She was distracting and problematic to business in the secluded lounge. But after she had snapped and pummeled another dancer in the room for sitting too close to him, she had warranted his attention.

There was something charmingly childish about the girl as she clumsily and seductively danced around. Often, the Joker had found that certain women were all too eager to please him. They would passively offer him their augmented bodies in return for a portion of his millions. He rarely saw one deliver their flirtation with such violent confidence. And coming from a girl who appeared to have never spent a sent on shoving plastic into her body. She was soft, yet slim, like the girl next door.

And, she was apparently ignorant to fact of whom she shared her company with that night. The Joker got the sense she wasn't dancing for him, but for herself. And she had seduced him purely because she wanted to. No monetary strings attached.

He had made the brash choice to ignore Monster T and opt to get to know the dancer named Harley Quinn a bit more carnally.

Leaving Frost to deal with the loud mouth and green gangster left them both with much to be desired. And, Monster T was growing irked by the mob boss's disinterest in him and captivation in the dancer. After all he heard of the crazed criminal with green hair, he didn't take him for the type to ignore business for a quick fuck.

The Joker turned to the man and nonchalantly brandished his flamboyant purple pistol. Harley clapped her hands excitedly at the sight.

"Leave T. Before things get a little messy around here," he warned feeling generous in giving the man a second chance.

Monster T stubbornly obliged.

"Just so long as that's a promise we'll meet again," he said, making his way to the exit.

The Joker eyed him closely as he left.

"Ob la di, Ob la da!" he chided as T sneered to him and pushed past the curtain to the club.

The Joker looked back to Frost who had obviously grown frustrated.

"Oh well," began the Joker. "Another one bites the dust-"

"Ooh, can I see that?!" came Harley before lunging for The Joker's weapon in hand.

Jerking the gun away from her, he shot her a stern look. She looked to him wide-eyed as she instantly realized her mistake. He hid the weapon back in his coat pocket and repressed his urge to knock her out.

"Sweetheart," he said with a forced smile, "that isn't your type of toy."

"Oh," she said with a giggle before throwing her arms around him again, "So, where were we?"

He looked to her as if examining plans to rob Gotham's bank. Dangerous, but worth a few bruises to complete. And she only gazed to him, blissfully unaware. Completely lost in a daze of purple passion. What sort of man would take advantage of a girl in that state?

Probably someone with less moral than the Joker. He only wished to take her to another high. Maybe open her mind to its true potential. After all, he'd never turn down an opportunity to influence a malleable youth.

" _JOKER!"_ yelled Maroni from outside the lounge.

And an opportunity just presented itself.

Harley squealed and ran behind the Joker as Maroni forced himself behind the curtain of the room. He was belligerent and practically fuming at the collar. The Joker looked to him as if greeting him for the first time that night.

"Ah! And how goes business, my friend? Not working too hard are ya? You old dog!"

Maroni narrowed his brow to him.

"Cut the bullshit you fucking freak! A few of us were talking out there. We want to know why the hell you dragged us all out here!"

The Joker looked hurt, "What? Are you not enjoying yourselves?"

"You're wasting our time clown!" he spat as the Joker shook his head.

"Tsk tsk tsk, hard crowd…"

Harleen peeked out from behind the Joker and happened to catch the eye of the enraged man.

"And another thing… Why should you get something that I found first?"

The Joker frowned to Maroni as the man smirked and stepped closer, eyeing Harley as she stood behind him.

"I've decided I'm not giving you a cent, freak. Why should you get to take my hard earned money and my hard earned girl…?"

The Joker glanced back to Harley who timidly looked back to him.

It wasn't the exact position he thought he would find himself in that night. Wedged between a man that could make him millions and a girl who could make him mortal.

"I've decided to adopt her," said the Joker back to Maroni. "I think the kid has thirst for blood. Real potential."

"You're fucked up! A complete sicko!" slurred the man, waving his finger in front of the Joker's face.

The Joker lunged forward grabbing the man's hand. And then, only an inch from his face, he began to laugh.

Maroni shoved him back in disgust.

The Joker continued to chortle as he turned back to Harley.

"On second thought, baby, I think this is the toy for you."

His glove hand reached into his pocket, presenting the sleek purple gun. Her eyes grew in excitement.

"Go on," he cooed to her, "take it… do it. Do it for daddy."

She looked to the man in awe. He had tossed the match that would ignite an inferno in her psyche.

She smiled to him before biting her lip, "Okay, daddy."

As soon he stepped away revealing a shot at the mobster, she took it with immeasurable pleasure.

She gasped as the gun popped back in her hand, steering a bullet clean into Maroni's chest. She laughed and pulled back the trigger again, delivering another round as he staggered back and spat blood from his mouth.

The Joker looked to her and the weapon in the grasp of her delicate hand. How her fingers wrapped around the thick handle of the gun as it erupted in her hold. It was enough to make him hard.

The gunfire set off a chain reaction. Maroni's men quickly countered with their weapons but were already met by the Joker's henchmen.

And, above the ear numbing racket of ricocheting bullets, her laughter leapt and twirled around the cries of death. He couldn't help but to join in.

Pulling her to his side, they were alone amidst the chaos of the club.

And there they were, face to face. Met in the middle of hell, as if by the guiding hand of Beelzebub himself.

* * *

Harleen blinked to him as she felt his breath on her face.

She leaned her head further back to meet him eye to eye.

They had only stared to one another for a long tense moment. Maybe he was waiting for her to break, maybe she was waiting for him to deliver that single blow. Either way, neither one flinched. It was to be expected when two unstoppable forces collided.

"So," began Harleen summoning whatever voice she could muster, "I'm Harley Quinn. I'm not a Doctor. I'm not even a stripper. Is that what you remember, J?"

He narrowed his brow and moved an inch closer to her suddenly. She gasped but quickly calmed herself again, still looking him boldly in the eye, only lingering to his lips for a moment.

He wanted to scare her. To see her pretty face contort in fear. Who was she to see him at his most vulnerable? To draw some sappy words from him after those Docs stirred around his brains? Who was she to dare enter his world?

Well, he would be sure to give her exactly what she came for.

He glanced to her lips as she waited on baited breath as he inched closer to them.

And just there, he froze.

"What do you want?" he demanded in a growl.

She paused, momentarily confused. Yet, the answer soon presented itself clear as day.

"You, Mister J..."

He raised his head back and smiled down to her.

"You see…" he began, a hand suddenly gracing the side of her face, "I was hoping you'd say that."

She relished the moment, as he gently traced her cheek, like the calm before the storm.

The, with sudden intent, he grabbed the back of her hair, and guided his open mouth to hers.

She closed her eyes as his tongue thirstily entered her mouth.

Her heart swelled and withered in pleasure as she felt his heat against her.

She reached out for his arm, something to steady herself from falling off the side of the world.

The kiss was urgent and wasted no time in climaxing to a level of primal hunger. It was otherworldly, possessive, and poignantly brief.

He pulled away and looked to her through half lidded eyes as hers were still closed, wheeling in the pleasure of his touch.

She blinked up to him.

And, before they had a moment to gather words to say, the guards entered the room.

Harleen quickly stood up and straightened her jacket as they looked on to the pair oddly.

"Is… is everything all right in here?" one questioned as the other guard hurriedly gathered the Joker's hands behind his back to secure them in handcuffs.

Harleen fumbled for a sentence as she looked to the Joker, wide eyed. He only smirked back to her. Wordlessly teasing her in her flustered state.

"I… I – uh," she glanced to the guard and cleared her throat, "Everything went just… just normal."

The guard raised a brow, "I see."

The Joker made his leave, looking to her as he was escorted out.

"See you tomorrow, Harley," he politely said.

She nodded, too embarrassed to look him in the eye.

"Tomorrow…"


	13. punch

A/N: Welcome back! Thank you all for the reviews! Please, if you are new to my story I would love to hear what you have to say. And such a big thank you to all who have continued along with me. HiccupTheUseless1234, to answer your question on how old the Joker is… well I don't think I really can. Canonically, the Joker is older than Harley and I'm just going by Leto's actual age irl which is 44, if you can believe it! I know I can't. Also, Shleprock, are you talking about tumblr blogs? I think the comment cut you off. But if you were, I am really obsessed w a few of them! I have one where the url is grap3soda if anyone is interested.

Anyone catch the extended edition yet? I'm not sure how impressed I am with just 2 extra minutes of Mister J. All though, there was a certain line where Deadshot called Harley a drunken stripper and I promptly had to stop the movie and scream for a minute. I also enjoyed Harley trying her psychiatrist skills on Killer Croc and the crew. I'll take what I can get with DC movies at this point.

Anyways, onward~

* * *

 _xiii; punch_

"You like cats, dear?"

Harleen looked to a kind old lady who smiled to her. She had ducked into a secondhand boutique on her way to the subway. It was strange, she had felt the usual Wednesday pass so differently. The chill air of Gotham seemed to warm. The harsh pace of the city seemed to dull. And the sun seemed to shine even in the grey sky.

An orchestra played in her head where before there was silence. It wasn't as if she had just stumbled into a good mood. It was as if she had never known grief or heartbreak. Like cruel life had never tripped her. She only was happy, and had never been anything but.

Once in the small store, a collection of vintage TY beanie babies had caught her eye. They reminded her of her childhood, especially a dragon that she clearly remembered owning. And then, there was an off white cat. She didn't hesitate in snatching it up and smiling down to it. Surely, the owner must have thought she had mentality of a child. Or, a woman in love.

Harleen smiled to the owner who sat behind the register.

"No, I'm more of a dog person… But this guy I like really likes cats," she answered, and the woman smiled to her knowingly.

"Ohhh, I see! To be young and in love."

 _Love_. Harleen awkwardly nodded and smiled politely.

What a terrifying notion, the idea of loving a man so volatile. Though, if it was not love, she didn't have a clue what could make her feel so different.

All she knew for sure was he was in her life, and she would take it moment by moment. And, overnight her once elaborate and dramatized book had transformed into her honest and personal private diary.

Sex with the Joker was marketable and practically kitsch. People would be cheaply captivated, and a lifetime movie deal would surely follow. Her name would be forgotten after a year or two and her life would move on in syndication.

But, love with the Joker? Who would buy that? She'd be a freak. Unmarketable and unsellable.

Surely, if she released a book the Joker would be cut from her life. What would he want with a fame hungry little liar? Nothing. And at a time, she was fine with that.

Yet now, everything had changed. He had kissed her and she kissed him back.

He was one in a million, that certain man, suddenly placed before her by some higher interference.

Harleen giggled looking down to the cat in her hand.

"Well," she began back to the woman, "I wouldn't call it love just yet…"

"Don't wait too long, honey!" she quickly warned, "The good ones always get away."

Harleen nodded dropping the cat on the counter and reaching for her purse.

 _The good ones._

"So… what else does he like besides cats?"

Harleen smiled up to her.

"Murder."

* * *

Doctor Serano strode down one of the more lack luster halls of Arkham. When she came upon the security office, she hastily swung open the door to find Grim, his feet propped up on a desk, as he carefully studied a black and white monitor. He glanced to her and quickly sat up with alertness. She smirked.

"Morning sunshine, time to get your goddamn hand out of your pants," she snidely joked.

He smiled to her, "Just what the Doctor ordered, Doctor."

She pulled up a chair next to him.

"What is it this time?" she asked looking to one of the many screens that filled the small office. "Catch who's been spiking the prom punch with antifreeze?"

The bulky man scratched his bead, "You know I wouldn't call you in here for somethin that fuckin normal."

She eyed him, "Then what ever could it be, Sherlock?"

He looked back to screen and grabbed the remote. After flicking a button, the image of a therapy session appeared, and Serano's face lost its coloring.

She leaned in to see the fuzzy image of the Joker seated on the couch as Harleen sat before him.

"You gave her a couch? What's next, conjugal visits?" spat the Doctor. Grim only pointed back at the screen.

"You're gonna want to pay close attention here."

She looked back at the monitor and watched in shock as he leapt up and grabbed Harleen.

The way the camera was positioned in the room, Serano could only make out the back of Harleen's head. Yet, the Joker's actions became clear after he grabbed her hair and his faced lowered closely to hers.

She watched on dumbfounded as Harleen kissed him back and he shortly pulled away.

"Fucked up innit?"

Serano ignored Grim's comments and only stared on slack jawed.

All her years of studying him. The books. The essays. The talk shows. The movie.

All the time she preached of his psychopathic ways. His complete narcissism. His total black hearted uncaring.

It was all a waste of time. Because, she realized in an instant, she didn't know him at all.

"That fucking bitch," she spat getting up, still watching the recording as security entered the scene and broke the tension between Harleen and the Joker.

"What do you think it means?" asked Grim before looking up to the Doctor. "You think she's really into him or sumthin?"

Serano sputtered, struggling to find words, "That slut?! Fuck no! She'd screw any man who gave her more attention than her father!"

Grim looked away, "Well, not any man…" he moaned, reminded of her harsh rejection. He looked back to Serano. "Well then, what's in it for the clown?"

Serano pondered his words. What was in it for the Joker? Was this all part of his plan? She pushed jealousy and revenge out of her mind. Of course. It is a classic trait of the psychopath to indulge anyone around him in his fantasy. They are masterminds of the theatrics. The best actors anyone could meet. They've been known to fool their own mother. Convince her they really never did kill 125 people and a cat. Of course. It's textbook. He's fooling her. The kiss. Maroni's murder. The rose… it was all a farce.

"I'm not sure," she concluded, "But, I know it wouldn't hurt him to have another eager little lackey on his side. Especially one who knows the ins and outs of this place…"

"His clock is ticking. He's getting anxious. You know he stabbed Billy last night? Billy! The kid who could hardly even look him in the eye. All over his dinner being cold."

Serano nodded, "It's been six weeks now. One of his longer stints…. It doesn't make any sense."

"What doesn't?"

"Everyfuckingthing. The night club. Only letting one girl escape. This blonde twat, head of her class!? Give me a fucking break! She thought ABA design was a pop group from the 70s! Maroni's murder, a love letter to Gotham from the Joker?! Everything's falling into place… it's almost as if it's all going to his plan."

Grim stared to her in confusion.

"Okay…. So what are you gonna do about it?"

"Grim, in all the time you've known me, have I ever lost?"

"You gotta a comeback?"

"Oh boy, do I. And I'm gonna need copy of that tape."

* * *

"Harley… whatdoya got?"

"I got you a kitty!"

Harleen sat across from the Joker saddened to see him refined once more in his straightjacket. She hoped her impromptu gift would distract him from any drama that had transpired outside the therapy room. And, oddly enough, once he sat down at the table, his world did seem to become less chaotic and more focused. She was his bright and sunny reminder that there were still fools left out there. Fools to be manipulated and tortured…

As everything he did in his life, he met his feelings to Harleen with obsession. It was compulsive and could become a dark reality for him.

Everything had to be just so. One mistake and he'd see another month of his small cell and shitty cafeteria food.

So, when he entered the room, and saw her sitting there, like a duckling alone in the ocean, he couldn't help but grin. She brought a light to his darkness, but he still managed to see the shadows lurking behind her eyes.

The Joker offered Harleen a friendly smile as she presented the beanie baby to him.

"Oh, you shouldn't have!" he said as she giggled and bent the cat's paw so it would wave to him.

"It's Groucho, just like you told me."

Harleen was thankful to see the haze he was under from pain medication had lifted. His eyes had reacquired their usual spark and he answered her with the witty quips she had become used to.

And, though they sat in the same small dirty room, in the familiar uncomfortable asylum. Something was different. And she felt as much joy as if they were seated alone on a private island.

She leaned over the table to give it to him when he suddenly leaned forward as well, a breath from her face.

She gasped at his closeness. He grinned largely to her, his eyes darting from her lips to her eyes.

She studied his face. Worn tattoos and smeared red lipstick. And his starch white skin. Her smiled slowly faded as she took in his unique attributes closely. How did he become so pale? Did it hurt when he fell to the toxic chemicals? Did it burn as it bleached his skin?

He made a breathy laugh as she gawked to him.

"You should see what sunscreen I use…"

His comment brought her back to the present and made her genuinely giggled a bit. Something she quickly repressed.

He smiled to her as she sat back down, shyly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You can laugh. I won't stop you. But those people out there…" he shook his head in disgust, "they will never understand."

She looked to him as he continued.

"It's all doom and gloom to those types. But, the right people, though very hard to come by, can always find a way to smile…"

She realized she was smiling to him. Openly adoring him as if he were a high school crush, like the star of the football team. Though, she knew how wrong it was to want a man whose past dripped red, she couldn't help herself.

Last they met, she had confessed to him something she thought she would take to her grave. That she was a fake and only dreamt of acquiring a doctorate in psychology. And… he accepted her for it.

If he could look past her shortcomings, surely she could do the same for him. After all, he was so _kind_ to her.

"You know, I really look forward to these meetings, Doctor," he continued in a sincere tone.

"Do you?"

"Mm-hmmm…" he hummed, nodding to her. "You're _different_ …"

"You're right. I shouldn't be here-"

"No," he injected quickly. "You're right where you need to be…"

She eyed him as he intensely stared back to her. She was reminded of their first meeting where he commented on how out of place she was.

"Will you promise me something, Harley?" he suddenly asked.

"That depends," she answered cheekily.

"No, it doesn't."

She dropped her smirk, sensing a slightly menacing tone in his voice. She let him carry on.

"You shouldn't dance in places like the Gin and Bare it. You're too _good_ for that."

"Well, Mister J. Maybe I'm not as good as you think I am."

He smiled to her, a darkly grin that made her a bit uneasy.

"I think you're just as good as I think you are."

"You don't know me," she laughed.

"I know who you want to be. In a way, that's far more personal."

"Well, maybe I want to be a stripper!"

"You don't."

"Then tell me, what do I want to be?"

He smiled to her as she crossed her arms to him. She knew if his hands were not bound beneath the jacket, they'd be around her neck.

"You want to be like me..."

She raised a brow, was he kidding her?

"What?"

"Face it, Quinzel. You'd take the trigger and pull it. And you'd kill a man for a laugh. You want the best? Cars. Money. Why play by their rules when you can make the game up yourself?"

He whispered to her of a life of luxury. A life he lived, under the prying eye of Gotham law. Of course, any person would want to live a life of riches. But, there were plenty of sane people in the world. How many of them owned purple Lamborghinis?

"Everyone wants those things," she said with a shrug. He pulled a face.

"Everyone? Since when did we give a damn about them?"

She pushed air through her nose. _We_. As if they were a pair. One and the same. Maybe it was slip of the tongue. Though, his tongue was rarely slippery.

"And it's all there… waiting… in a place you wouldn't dare to dream of," he said, leaning back and looking her over. "I could show it to you."

She blinked gawking to him. A million thoughts ran through her head. Had she just won the lottery? What was the quid pro quo? What angle was he selling her?

"I- I don't understand."

"You want to enter my world?"

"Yes, of course. But, I don't see what… I don't see why you would-"

"I don't want you to question anything. Only accept," he said slowly. "And, isn't it all so much easier that way? When you accept the hand fate has dealt you?"

"I'm not in the business of taking things at face value."

"And I'm not in the business of being refused something I want."

She smirked. Was he indeed confessing he wanted her? Normally, such a brash statement would be cause enough for her to slap a man. Yet, he could have told anything, no matter how plainly infuriating, and she would only be forced to swoon. He had a way about him. An exceptional merger of charm and blackmail.

"I'll show you," he whispered in promise. "I'll bring you to the edge of your sanity."

"I- I feel like you already have."

"This?" he laughed, shaking his head, "This was only the beginning…"

The beginning… was he being honest with her? She envisioned them together, outside the walls of Arkham, living an unattainable fantasy.

Though, current circumstances still loomed over any plans she might will into existence.

"There is something you could do for me first, Harley."

"Anything, I mean, yeah."

He leaned over the table, leering to her with his shocking blue eyes.

"I need a machine gun."

She gawked to him.

"A machine gun?"

He nodded, a small smile growing on his lips.

"You're crazy!" she gasped, instantly regretting her choice of words.

He laughed throwing his head back. "I'm crazy?! HA! Do you really think, Doc? Hahaha!"

"I- I didn't meant it like _that_."

His eyes closed tightly as he continued to cackle, tears beginning to show.

"Good thing I always evaded taxes. Now I see what genius that money goes to support! HahaHA!"

She narrowed her brow. For some reason, she had the sudden thought; he laughed to fool her, like face paint hiding a clown's frown. Could it be, he was really crying…? The notion practically brought her to tears as she watched his unstable outburst of emotion.

"If I'm crazy, you're insane…" he said before pausing, as if having a sudden thought. "Hey! Maybe that's the reason why we get along. We fill in each other's insanity!"

"But… Mister J, I'm not insane," she softly disagreed.

The Joker howled with laughter once again as she could only stare to him in confusion.

He shook his head, "Another cog in their machine! And you think you're a rebel," he spat between laughter. "You may live freely but you'll die like all of them…. Well, that is, unless…"

Her ears perked, "Unless what?"

His eyes wandered in thought. She watched him intently. Finally, he glanced back to her.

 _Unless, I kill you myself…_ he mused looking her over.

"Unless, we… strike a deal."

"What kind of deal?" she asked.

"Employment. Would you work for me?"

"Me?!" she laughed humorlessly at the absurdity of it. "What could I do for you?"

He smirked to her, "Odd jobs, here and there…"

She wasn't too flattered by the offer.

"And," he continued, "maybe we could keep having these meetings…" he made a small chuckle, "Would you believe it? I think they're helping me!"

Her heart warmed at his gentle offer. She felt a surge of attraction for him as he bashfully looked to the table then back up to her. She blinked to him, unable to answer his request.

"Oh, you know what they say," he finally spoke again, "a job's a job. So why refuse?"

"Why…" she repeated in a whisper before coming back to earth and realizing the weight of his offer. "But, I already have a job."

"Here? No, no, no, when you work for me, there won't be any 9 to 5. You'll see money like you never have before… endless perks." He shrugged, "Maybe a new car, if you'd like."

"And… all I gotta do is find a machine gun?"

He smiled, "See, that's why I like you. You're a quick learner."

Just then, the buzzer for the door rang out and Harleen practically felt her heart leap from her chest.

She looked back to the Joker as he calmly smiled.

"Could you do that for me?" he murmured to her.

She couldn't find the voice to answer. All she could do was straighten her back and narrowly eye the security guards who entered, as if they could read her treacherous thoughts.

The Joker remained silent as the guards roughly grabbed him, pulling him to his feet.

He looked down to her and she found it hard to glance away from his mesmerizing gaze.

"You're all I have here, Harley," he confessed as the guards pulled him to his feet and escorted him toward the door. "You wouldn't let daddy down, would you?"

One of the guards looked to Harleen oddly as she blushed to the Joker who flirtatiously dropped her wink.

He was pushed by her and she turned to watch him leave.

 _The bastard. What was he asking her to do? Risk her life, her career, her name, all for him…?_

Just as he was about step out the door, something slipped from the confines of his Jacket. Harleen watched as a small card floated to the ground.

Once the door was closed, she hastily rushed to pick up what looked to be a mundane playing card.

She turned it over in her hand to see it was the Queen of Hearts. And there, written across the face, appeared to be a phone number along with an inscription in refined penmanship;

 _Harley, give me a call sometime…_

* * *

Harleen hastily opened her apartment door for Chic.

"Were you followed?!" she cried pulling her confused friend into her kitchen.

"Bitch, what the fuck?" said Chic, stumbling in her heeled boots into the small abode.

Harley locked her door, then quickly worked on the three other locks she had added. Chic only watched on dumbfounded.

"You ain't on speed again, are you?"

Harleen sighed exasperated, "That was one time!"

"Well good, cause you know that shit makes you paranoid as fuck, right?"

"I'm not paranoid. I just have these feelings that I'm being watched, followed, maybe by _his_ men or the Gotham police. They could be on to me if Serano tipped them off. Or shit, if that Black Ivey bitch ratted on me! But I swear, sometimes when I'm walking down the street, a shadow passes over me… what if it's that bat...?"

"The bat? Harls, you gotta better chance of winning the goddamn lottery…"

Chic watched as Harleen ignored her and ran across her kitchen to the living room. She dashed to her TV and flipped on the news. Or, at least what Chic assumed was the news.

The news castor's voice filled the room.

" _Today, the Joker left Gotham police reeling after stealing upwards of three hundred paintings from the Modern Museum of Art and vandalizing countless more…"_

Chic listened on as she took off her coat. She glanced to Harleen who looked to the screen wide-eyed before sitting on the couch.

"Didn't that air years ago…?"

Harleen looked to Chic. "Yeah! It's a DVD I got on eBay. Every news clip Gotham Insider ever featured on him."

Chic took a seat and eyed her friend in concern.

"What did he say to you today?"

Harleen shook her head, "Everything is falling into place. It all makes sense."

"What makes sense?"

"Well… everything. I know I'm curing him! He's more caring. He feels something. I know he can't explain it or understand it properly, but I see it in his eyes."

"Good then! After you cure him he'll be out of your life. And you can move on, go back to school, write your book-"

"Chic. Are you kidding? I can't write that book now!" laughed Harleen as if it were obvious.

"Why?"

"Because we- I mean I… I think we're in…" she suddenly stopped herself. Though, her smile wordlessly carried on her sentence for her. A spark of fear became evident in Chic's eyes.

"We're not some sideshow in a circus," assured Harleen. "If I write that book we'll be mocked. No one will get it. That we're just Harley and the Joker. We're just… normal."

"Harley?!" Chic cried at her use of the nickname.

"Uh-huh."

" _Normal?"_

Harleen sighed, "Well… I mean, normal _is_ only a setting on a washer machine but- we aren't like freaks or something!"

Chic eyed her, not buying her claims of rationality.

"You'll see," assured Harleen. "I'll change him. He'll learn through me."

"Pfff, you sound like the bitches who tried to marry Ted Bundy on death row!"

"You don't understand! If you could only just meet him…"

"What would I say to him?!" she laughed, "Heard lots about you, I'm a big fan! Can one of your friends try and poison our water supply one more time? That would be a real shocker."

"Come on, he's not like the way _they_ say he is!" she said gesturing to the TV screen.

Chic frowned, knowing full well she was incapable of talking sense into Harleen.

"And… I mean…" began Harley a bit embarrassed. "When he _kissed_ me…"

"STOP!" cried Chic getting up and covering her ears, "If you think I can take listening to that one more time…" she shook her head and ran to a kitchen cabinet. She bitterly grabbed a tall bottle with a depiction of a goose and took a generous sip. She then continued searching the other cabinets. "Girl, what pills you got? This isn't a joke!"

Harleen walked leisurely to her side and took the bottle from her hand, taking a hearty few gulps.

"There's some Xanax in the freezer."

Chic shot her a look, "The freezer?"

Harleen shrugged, "I tried to hide them!"

Chic opened the freezer and shifted through a container of ice cubes before finding the pills.

Harleen watched on, waiting for her to calm down and hopefully lend a somewhat helpful ear.

Chic took back the Vodka and swallowed the pills with a swig. Once the deed was done, she calmed herself, taking a few deep breaths.

"Better?" Harleen asked.

Chic frowned and shook her head before taking another long swallow.

"Okay," she finally said with a raspy voice. "What the fuck he say today?"

Harleen took the playing card from her pocket and showed it to Chic.

"He gave me his fucking number."

She could hardly complete the sentence before Chic took to the bottle again and tightly closed her eyes.

"Oh god! Stop it, Chic! I need you!"

"Me?" she cried, coughing on the rough liquid. "Why me? I'm a good Catholic girl! I love Jesus!" she said between gulps. "Padre! Deliver me!"

Harleen grabbed the bottle from her lips.

"And which one of us here is fuckin with Gotham mobsters?"

"You right, I'll say a prayer for you too, girl…"

She clasped her hands together but Harleen tore them apart.

"Stop it! I'm free falling here, I can't do this alone!"

She looked to her desperately pleading eyes. Chic then assumed Harleen only wanted a friend who was willing to pat her on the back while she ruined her life. A friend who would agree with a polite smile then talk shit behind her back. Well, Chic was willing to talk shit to her face.

"You're being a fucking dumbass stupid bitch, BITCH!"

Harleen blinked, "So, that's how you feel?"

Chic laughed dryly, "That's how it is! There isn't a way around it. Either you're my sane normal friend, or, you're helplessly in love with a psychopathic clown!"

"What if he's not psychopathic or a clown?" she firmly answered.

Chic shook her head, "I won't dig your grave, Harls. But feel free the grab the damn shovel yourself."

Harleen stared to her for a long moment.

"Fine!" she finally snapped whipping out her cell phone and taking a seat at her kitchen table.

Chic watched on in horror as Harleen carefully tapped the numbers on the screen, glancing to the playing card.

"If he friggin answers that shit, you best not hand it to me!" Chic warned.

Harleen hushed her as brought the phone to her ear.

"It's ringing!" she said in a whisper.

"What the fu- he gonna trace that shit!" Chic exclaimed grabbing Harleen's arm and shaking her.

"SHHH!" said Harleen batting her away, when -

" _Hello?"_

Harleen's heart stopped as a voice answered the phone. A man's voice that hinted at tinge of annoyance.

"Yo, who is this?" he continued.

Harleen blinked, her mind suddenly blank.

"…Who – who is this?" she finally asked.

"Who is this?! Sweetheart, you're the one calling."

"Oh right…" she glanced to Chic wide-eyed as she silently mouthed for her to hang up.

"Listen, I don't know how you got this number, but this isn't exactly the party hotline. This is strictly business only."

That voice… why did it sound familiar? She closed her eyes envisioning the club that night...

"Unless you have somethin you gotta say- you better not waste my time."

Harleen suddenly remembered the Joker's men. And, that one at his side. That jacket he wore… with his name sewn into the breast pocket...

"Frost?!"

The line went silent for a long while. Harleen heard her heat beat as she held the phone to her ear.

"How did you get this number?" his voice finally responded.

"Frost…" she began, almost sighing in relief, "this is… Harley Quinn."

"Harley Quinn?"

"Yeah, uh… we met that night at the Gin and Bare It?"

"Holy shit… how did you get this number? Who gave it to you?"

"Well, Mister J– I mean, J did! We've been talking at Arkham. I'm sorta his Doctor now."

Silence emitted for another prolonged moment.

"You work at Arkham?"

"Yes!" she eagerly answered. "And J, he told me to call this number…"

"Well, well, well," Frost breathed. "That sonafabitch sure does get lucky."

"Yeah," she laughed forcibly, "and he told me- he told me he needs… something."

Chic narrowed her brow to Harleen.

"And that would be…?" asked Frost.

Harleen took a moment to try and muster the confidence to sound as convincing as she could.

"A machine gun, he said."

"Oh, one of those…"

"And…" Harleen spoke up.

"And?"

Harleen looked to Chic, wordlessly apologizing, knowing she would not be happy with her next statement.

"And he offered me a job, working for him. That's when he gave me this number."

Frost was quiet for what felt like an eternity. Chic viciously glared to Harleen disapprovingly.

"Meet me at the Gin and Bare It tonight, 10pm sharp. Come alone."

Harleen pulled the phone away from her ear to see he had ended the call.

"What did he say?" asked Chic.

Harleen looked up to her.

"I'm gonna need my bat again…"


	14. moonshine

**A/N:** Do you ever just put something off for so long then feel really really bad and put it off some more?

Hello everyone who is still interested in this story! I'm so sorry!

Apparently, Scorsese is making a Joker movie…. did I predict that or what with my earlier Goodfellas reference? I took it as a sign I should continue with this. It's so different than my usual writing style and I find I have to be in a particular mindset. Anyways, I refuse to believe it's been a year since I published this! Fastest year of my life. I want to thank all of u that keep this story alive. I'm sorry I left it for so long but if you're still interested, I would love to continue! Muse and time management willing.

* * *

 _xiv ; moonshine_

Harley laughed giddily as the Joker bit into a melting Mickey Bar.

The ice-cream in the shape of the familiar mouse ran down his white hand in the Californian sun.

Were they on vacation? Was it some carefully planned stunt?

Harley didn't care.

She grasped his hand as they took in the theme park behind rose tinted sunglasses. It made sense to her. It was the one place where reality and magic blurred. Where no one questions a 5-foot mouse. The Joker wore a garish purple and emerald Tommy Bahama button up shirt. She had pink mouse ears strapped on. For the moment, they were normal in their completely alien way. Whether it was Jupiter, Neptune, or Anaheim.

After all, who needed some perfectly pretend man from a fairytale when she suddenly had her own Prince Charming? Her own version of happily ever after. Him; a Disney Prince off his meds and her; stripperella.

Finally, she knew what the blonde with the missing shoe was singing about. So _this_ was love.

She leaned closer to him and kissed the melted ice-cream off the corner of his mouth. He pulled her closer, a wickedly large grin across his face. She squeaked with joy as he picked her up, twirling her around some pink castle above a moat. It was only then that she noticed all the dead tourists at her feet accompanied by the voice of Chic distracting her from her daydream.

"Harl! Are you listening to me?"

"Shit, I'm sorry," said Harleen. She shifted in the back seat of a taxi she had summoned from an app on her phone. Chic only stared to her. "What?!" Harleen asked clueless.

Chic rolled her eyes, looking out the window.

"Oh, nothing. I was just pointing out that we're taking an Ubber to our own funerals," she mumbled.

"Don't be chicken shit. He doesn't want me dead. I'm their only chance," added Harleen in a whisper.

"Yeah, but what about _me_?! Are you sure I should be a part of this?"

"Hey!" said Harleen raising her bat. "I call the shots tonight. Whoever's there is gonna havta answer to me!"

"Oh… you've got to be joking me," said Chic unimpressed. Harleen ignored her friend's trepidation and continued with her delusional 'hard-ass' monologue.

"I'm ready to throw down, bitch. Let him check me sideways!" she mimed swinging the bat as Chic flinched. "I'll turn _his_ head sideways, ah-ha!"

Chic looked horrified.

"This is some next-level white people shit. This is a teen novel where the girl is too dumb to not fall in love with a vampire."

Harleen lowered her eyes, "That's racist."

"You're white. Get over it."

"I'm ethnic!"

"You're a blonde Jew from Jersey."

"Not… naturally," she said, taking a blonde hair around one finger.

The driver, a young man who thought it was acceptable to wear a checkered trilby hat and thick framed wayfarer glasses, glanced curiously back to the pair.

Since Harleen had begun swinging around her bat, he looked as if he wanted to make some sort of comment. But the girls relentless back and forth prevented him.

"Hey!" he finally called, catching their attention. "You know your, uh…., _destination_ is closed right? As in closed down?"

"… Yeah," said Harley dumbly. "So?"

"That's sort of weird?" he said, catching a glimpse of Harleen in his rearview mirror before doing a double-take. "Hey, wait! You look familiar. Do yous do porn?"

Her face contorted and gripped the bat tighter. Chic sensed her anger and placed a controlling hand over the possible weapon.

"No, freak," Chic hissed. "Now mind the damn road!"

The man looked slightly disappointed, but persisted.

"Are you sure? Have you ever seen that fake Ubber shit? You all aren't looking for a free ride, huh?" he asked, wiggling a brow with breathy, lingering, laughter.

Harleen theatrically gagged at his implication.

"I think you might want to mind your own business, pal," Chic said before leaning closer, and adding under her breath; "My friend here comes from the Asylum. She's out on good behavior. Her and her bat."

The driver scoffed as his hands tapped the wheel nervously.

"There's only one _bat_ people like me fear at night, baby. That ain't it."

"People like you," laughed Harleen. "As if, buddy! What's on your record? Get caught with pot in college?"

"Ah her her," the man lamely laughed, unable to think of a witty way to deflect the truth. "You have no idea, girl."

"As I was saying –" said Chic with a disgruntled sigh back to Harleen. "There's no way I'm meeting this guy. You got no idea who to even expect! It could be his whole gang ready to wipe us out!"

"You're getting ahead of yourself. Besides, think of the _story_. Imagine telling your grandkids!"

"Grandkids!? Oh, that's right," Chic sarcastically jibed, "gather round kids! Granny's gonna tell you bout the time she was high on Xan-vodka…"

"You've got it all wrong. This night could change everythin-"

"So…" began the nosy driver, interrupting Harleen, "if the place is closed down… why are you going there?"

Chic and Harleen eyed him sardonically.

"You know," began Harleen, "some drivers have free candy. They don't play 20 Questions!"

"Just wondering. I would hate to image you ladies getting into trouble tonight. Without me that is…"

"I'm sorry, are you new?" came Chic, incensed by his tenacity. "You know we rate you after this?"

"The Gin and Bare It," the man repeated, seeming to think the name over out loud. "Isn't that where that Joker guy killed all those people? Bet it's haunted as _fuuuck."_

Harleen sneered at his casual mention of the man. As if someone so crass and ordinary had any right to refer to _him_ simply as 'that guy'.

"Yeah," Chic said in deadpan agreement. "We're going ghost hunting, Zak Bagans. Want to come?"

"Pfff, come on," chuckled the man presumptuously, "get real. Tell me the truth, sugar tits."

Chic blinked to him, seemingly blinded by his brazen name-calling.

"You want the truth?" she asked, preparing another sarcastic delivery. "It's a porno. There's a new wave of underground shit out there. Fuckin were there's been a mass murder. Hottest shit on the market."

Harleen laughed out right but the driver lurched forward in excitement.

"Oh, hell yeah!" he cried. "I knew you were pornstars! I can always tell. 10 out of 10. I think I have a gift."

"He believed that but he doesn't buy ghost hunting?" whispered Harleen worried for the man's sanity.

Finally, they arrived to the familiar corner of the slummy strip-club once belonged to.

Harleen pulled her coat around her shoulders and looked to the ominous sight before exiting the car.

"You're getting a one star, dickhead! I'm doing that shit right now," said Chic with her phone in hand, slamming the car door.

The man rolled down his window and smiled to the pair as they left

"C'mon, sweethearts. I'll be waiting here all night!"

Harleen glared to him before leaning closer to the window. She produced a small business card from her coat pocket. One she had left over from orientation at Arkham Asylum.

"You need a good therapist. One that can sort out your micro-penis mentality and tendencies to overcompensate with a shitty personality bestowed to you by a daddy who left before you could jerk off."

The man's jaw became slightly unhinged as she threw the card in his face and smiled with a cheery wave goodbye.

He wasted no time in pulling around and screeching off into the desolate night of downtown Gotham.

"So. This is fucking stupid," spoke up Chic, crossing her arms to gather heat in the icy evening.

Harleen turned to Chic who stood before a chained entrance to the once named Gin and Bare it.

"Shit's locked," continued Chic, reaching for the door and giving it a few firm yanks.

They looked up to the bared-up club. It seemed like a rusted ghost of its former self. Though, it was never easy on the eyes, it now stood a ghoulish memorial to fallen women and gluttonous men.

Harleen swallowed hard reminding herself of a man with emerald hair. She thought of how happy he would be to know she had the courage to attend to gangsters and casually greet villains in the night.

And then, maybe he would realize, she could be enough for him.

Did she feel guilty that she had willed Chic to come along? Did she feel bad for withholding the information that Frost had been very clear in her coming alone?

Not particularly. She was under the naive idea that _they_ needed _her_. That she had a one-up on the one-uppers. That she could somehow outsmart the criminals who ran circles around a master sleuth with pointy bat-ears.

Chic heaved against the door when a thought struck Harleen.

"Wait! Let's try the back entrance before we catch any suspicious eyes."

Chic begrudgingly followed Harleen around the back alley past piles of garbage and abandoned stripper belongings. Chic pulled a grimace as she tripped over dark mysteriously rotten forms. She pinched her nose at the putrid smell.

"Why the fuck haven't they demolished this shit yet? They just gutted it and left it to rot?"

"No one cared when it was up and running, why would they care now?" asked Harleen with a shrug.

Chic tripped over a bag of garbage and sighed loudly.

"Help me. Help me to understand- Why am I fucking here?!"

"To help me!" Harleen called back. "I'm your best friend who's gonna buy you as many Jimmy Choos as you want. After my first check from J!"

"Jimmy Choos? Please. I'm gonna need some Louboutins."

Harleen stopped, and stared her friend dead in the eye.

"How many?"

Chic paused to think.

"How many is too many?"

Harleen smirked, waving a finger.

"No such thing."

She returned to trekking through garbage and Chic wistfully sighed.

"God damnit. Fuck me. It almost worth it."

After another couple of careful footsteps they made it to the back entrance that was free of padlocks. But after Harleen shook the doorknob, she realized it was still fastened.

"How the heck would anyone get in here?" she asked.

"They string up Maroni in the middle of Metropolis and you wonder how they get through a locked door?"

She frowned, "You think they're already in there?"

"You wanna start knocking, girl scout?!"

Harleen slowly raised a fist before carefully delivering a few sharp knocks on the door.

"Hello?!" she called, "It's- It's Harleen! Doctor Quinzel!"

"No one's there," said Chic. Though, Harleen ignored her as a sudden idea sprang to mind.

"It's Harley Quinn!" she called out, hearing an echo from the inside. That name. Again, it sounded so strangely familiar. So oddly natural.

Chic noticed how confident Harleen had said the name. With her chin raised and her shoulders back, she sensed, to her dismay, it was catching.

The pair waited in silence. Chic casually checked her phone.

"Well. It's 10;25."

Harleen turned away from the door, irritated with meandering in the middle ground.

In a fit of frustration, she turned and swung her bat into the door. It bounced off with a loud whack that caused Chic to jump back in fear.

" _Jesus!"_ she mumbled, clutching her chest. "Are you crazy?"

"I can't let him down," Harleen confessed getting an odd look from her friend. "He's counting on me!"

"Whoa, whoa – what are you talking about?!" asked Chic. "Isn't this just about money? Who are you letting down?"

"J!" she fiercely cried. Chic was speechless as Harleen seemed to become emotional.

"I'm his only chance," she continued. "He's in there with no hope! Gettin beaten up by stupid guards and havin his brain fried for fun! Just so _they_ can dissect him and take notes!"

Chic's brow knitted in worry for Harleen. Suddenly, in what seemed to take a singular moment, she changed. She no longer recognized her as the funny blonde with a few questionable habits. In a blink, she had become… someone else.

"He's in there because he's a criminal…" Chic carefully pointed out, as plainly as she could.

"Criminal?" Harleen laughed dryly, almost not understanding.

Chic frowned, eyeing Harleen sternly.

"Yes. Criminal. He killed everyone we worked with! He's terrorized people in this city for years! He pushed Serano's husband off a building and pissed on his paralyzed body!"

Harleen laughed, shaking her head. That fucking bitch Serano. Was there anything she didn't deserve?

"That's what _they_ say. Don't you get it?" Harleen asked. "They don't tell us the truth! For all we know, he's just a patsy. It's the bat that's the criminal."

"Do you hear yourself?" Chic gasped. "How many conspiracies have you read?"

"It's the truth," she insisted before smiling in madness. "When he tells you something, even the most ridiculous and amazing thing, it becomes real," she paused, laughing at how romantic she sounded. Chic only looked horrified. "You know. I knew I was different. And he… he's the only one who ever saw it in me."

"Harl… I've always told you – you can change the world. You can go back to school, become a real doctor!"

Chic attempted to reach out to Harleen but she only turned back to the door.

"Go back to school? For what? Just to be another cog in the machine?"

"To be the person you wanted to be, Harleen."

Harleen chortled at Chic's generous sympathy.

"That's what I'm talking about. You say I can be somebody. He thinks I already am. He sees something no one else seems to."

Chic sighed as she watched Harleen shake the doorknob.

"Besides," she went on, "when I do get him out, and everyone knows my name, I'll only have you to thank."

"Oh yeah? And why is that?"

Harleen turned back to her, "You showed me the internship at Arkham."

Chic felt a chill crawl over her skin. The feeling was inexplicable, yet she felt a very clear sense of dread hanging behind each word.

Harleen only offered a small smile. And in an instant, had returned to her normal self.

"This door doesn't look so strong. Why don't we knock it down?!"

Chic numbly helped Harleen. Meanwhile, her mind raced. The vodka and medicine had clouded her thoughts, and the promise of wealth was alluring. But suddenly, she was stunned to sobriety and she wondered if there was a way out.

As the pair rammed into the door, the oak finally gave in, and they tripped into the darkness of the abandoned club.

Harleen felt a cold bite in the air as she looked around the room. The place had the atmosphere of a graveyard.

"Man… this is creepy," she said.

Chic said nothing as she turned the flashlight on her phone to illuminate the surroundings.

"Is anyone here?" asked Harleen to the dark.

"How could they get in?" wondered Chic.

Harleen felt stupid, somehow, she had forgotten his company were only mortal too.

They moved slowly across the floor, past the empty bar, and by the dismantled stage.

"I can't take this," Chic muttered. "Why haven't they tore this damn place down yet?! This city likes to be reminded of girls with no other choice gettin murdered. Girls who were only doing their job!"

"He wasn't here to kill them," Harleen spoke up. "He was here to kill the mobsters who wronged him."

"So why'd he kill them, too?"

Harleen said nothing but she didn't like her friend's harshly questioning retort. Inwardly, she withheld several answers;

 _Because it was fun. Because they were bitches and deserved it. Hell, I would have done the same thing._

That was when they noticed the front door was open.

"Do you see that?" called Chic, shining her light across the room to the door they had first attempted to open. "There's no way. It was boarded up with padlocks!"

Harleen smirked. Perhaps his men weren't completely mortal, after all.

"He was here."

"He? Who are you expecting, anyway?"

She glanced over her shoulder to Chic.

"Frost. The guy I was talking to on the phone. Who I met that night. I think him and J are close."

"Oh… so not only are you tight with the Joker, you and his boyfriend also go way back?"

Harleen ignored her and walked toward the door. Chic attempted to follow her when something on a lone dining table caught her eye. Her light fell over it. It was a piece of paper folded in half and propped up. It was completely out of place as it seemed to be purposely and carefully arranged.

She noticed it had writing on it, so she thoughtlessly picked it up.

Her eyes fell over the scratchy writing and grew wide.

"I don't know," said Harleen sighing back to Chic. "If he was here, he's gone n-"

She glanced back to Chic as she gawked at the mysterious note in her hand.

The look on her friend's face caused Harleen's heart to drop. She knew that look. A mixture of hurt, distrust, and fear.

"W-What? What is it?" Harleen asked softly.

Chic dropped the note and looked horrified to Harleen.

"You fucking bitch!" she yelled, her voice sharp as venom as she raised the note in the air. "You're trying to get me killed?!"

"What are you talking about?"

"What am I talking about? He told you to come alone and that I'd be killed!"

"What? No! NO! That's a lie… He's lying! Chic… believe me…"

Harleen tried to reach out to Chic but she jerked away. She looked back to the letter before reading it aloud;

"You don't seem to be that good of a listener. My time is money and I strictly told you to come alone or risk death. We have no time for snitches and even less for the hard of hearing."

Her voice was tense and uncharacteristically shaky.

"He… he didn't tell me that! I swear!" Harleen choked on her dishonest words.

"Shut up! I know when you lie because your left eyebrow twitches!"

"It's a nervous tick! I can't help it!"

"Whatever," mumbled Chic throwing the letter behind her as she marched past Harleen. "I'm fucking out of here. Keep your blood Louboutins. The red will go great with a bright orange jumpsuit."

Harleen sneered to her as she walked to the door.

"What?! Did you expect this would all be fun and games?! Free money! Free shoes! Sorry you broke ho! I ain't an ATM!"

Chic paused, "I didn't want your worthless stolen money. I wanted Harleen back. The Harleen I knew, anyway."

She ducked out of the exit and Harleen quickly ran after her.

"You know how hard all of this has been on me? I'm sorry my life is such a burden for you!"

Chic typed on her phone, ignoring Harleen as she confronted he on the empty sidewalk.

"That's it then? You're leaving me here?"

"No. I'm going home and you're coming with me. Just so I can sleep tonight knowing I left you safe in your bed. After that, we're done."

Her words were so cold, so final, so empty… they left Harleen spinning, lost in space.

"I'm not going with you! I'm staying here. I told you – he's counting on me!"

"So what? He's a psycho! A freak with metal teeth-"

"You better shut your mouth!" cried Harleen, stepping closer to Chic as she carried on.

"He's got you brainwashed like a stupid whore with her first big spender."

"You're wrong."

"Am I? Wake up! How can you not see what he's doing here? He'll have you break him out so he has a nice, cooperative, stupid, little stripper to blame."

Harleen waved her bat at her side, "I was never no stripper! Unlike you, ya dumb slut!"

"Okay Harley Quinn… the stripper!" she bluntly responded.

"I thought I could trust you! I thought you'd be the only one to understand."

"Well that makes two of us. You let me wander into all of this against that lackey's orders!"

"I… I…" Harleen stammered, unable to think of a comeback or another string of lies. Chic crossed her arms, sending a scornful look to her once best-friend.

"So I knew, fine!" spat Harleen. "But they need me! He has me working for him, I'll practically be their co-boss!"

"Oh, bitch. You _are_ fucking insane!" said Chic in shock stepping away. Harleen attempted to follow her but her feet seemed to be stuck in place.

"You've lost your mind. You're done for."

"If you just listened to me you'd be on our side! The friend of the famous Harley Quinn!"

Chic narrowed her brow, shaking her head.

"No one will understand. You'll end up just like him."

Harleen smiled, her eyes turned to slits, cursing Chic.

"Huh… that doesn't sound so bad. Rich with Gotham at my feet."

"No." she said just as a car approached them, "Alone. And hated."

"Back already?" called the familiar driver, "It was a quickie I guess!"

Chic rolled her eyes.

"I'm so fucking pissed I don't even care this freak is stalking me!" she said, more directed to the man behind the wheel.

Harleen watched as she got into the car and slammed door.

"Fine! I don't care!" she cried. "You're jealous! You've always been jealous! You'll see me one day, happy with money and _him_. I'll be a Queen!" screamed Harleen before she ran beside the car and brutally beat the backseat window. "I'll be the goddamn Queen of Gotham! You hear me, cunt?!"

The car pulled away as Harleen stood alone, arms crossed in the biting chill of nightfall.

She always pictured final goodbyes to be something cinematic. Some black and white old film stars talking about a hill of beans as a plane waits.

The last thing she thought as she saw Chic storm away was that classic line; _"Here's looking at you, kid."_ She saw someone she was mad at. Someone she hated. Someone she loved. Someone she took for granted and expected to be there.

Until she wasn't.

She dropped her white knuckled fists at her side and began to storm toward the main road, muttering the whole way.

She clutched her bat, imagined the different ways she could have struck the wood against her skull. Her stupid, judgmental, small-minded, backstabbing skull.

And then, something happened she did not anticipate at all.

For a spit second, she swore a shadow passed over her, blocking the light of the street lamp and moon itself.

She turned around, her eyes scanning the empty sidewalk and abandoned road.

There was nothing, and yet, she knew someone was nearby.

"H-hello?" she called. "Hey, don't even think about it, okay? I got a, uh, heavy bat here. No softball shit, kay? This is Babe Ruth- Whoa!"

Suddenly, she was grabbed from the back and dragged in between a closed deli and abandoned motel.

Her bat had fallen from her grip as she battled the strong hands around her waist. The assailant pulled her into the shadows and she twisted around, throwing punches at his chest. It was then that she caught a glimpse of his face, it was hidden behind a mask. A mask with pointed ears.

She gasped, jerking away and he finally let go.

"No!" she gasped, "Batman!"

The man began to laugh lowly, a menacing and unnerving sound.

"Not quite."

She watched in confusion as he took the mask off, revealing a stern looking man with a full yet neatly trimmed beard.

"Sorry about the mask. J insists on theatrics. I'm not much for them myself."


End file.
